A Hero By Any Other Name
by Random Equinox
Summary: Having survived the Reaper War and saved the galaxy, all Shepard wants is to rest, relax and maybe get some sushi. Sadly, none of that will happen. A partial novelization of Mass Effect 3: Citadel.
1. Home Away From Home

**A Hero By Any Other Name**

_**Editorial Note**_

_Readers have often asked me what happened to Commander Shepard after the Reaper War. What harrowing mission did he go on next? What battle did he wage next? That sort of thing. Few were excited to hear that he had to recover—physically and emotionally—from the terrible, terrible ordeal he had endured during that horrific time._

_On the one hand, I find this disappointing. Do readers really need their heroes to constantly go off on some grand adventure? Is it not enough to know that they were there when they were needed most? _

_But then, I suppose it is understandable. It is natural to have an interest in other people, particularly one who you admire. To look for some way in which you share common ground. To take heart in their accomplishments. To draw inspiration from their words, their deeds, their actions._

_So perhaps I should be pleased to report that Shepard's recovery was not completely uneventful—though he would undoubtedly have it otherwise. After some work, I have edited a new collection of personal logs detailing his time on the Citadel after completing his physical therapy. Readers with the necessary security clearance may be interested in perusing this material, considering there is little on the public record that covers Shepard's activities during this period of time. _

_As always, I have confined my revisions to restructuring the logs into chapters for easier readings, along with occasional footnotes for the purposes of offering explanations and observations where needed. The bulk of what follows, however, is Shepard's account of those events in his unique and idiosyncratic fashion._

_Sincerely,  
Dr. Liara T'Soni_

* * *

**Chapter 1: Home Away From Home**

"I got the blues, Miranda," I declared. "The sittin'-in-the-jailhouse-blues."

Miranda rolled her eyes. "I hardly think a hospital qualifies as a jail, Shepard."

"I've been poked and prodded every day. Went through round after round of sadistic torture. And the shrink won't leave me alone. Trust me: if you had to go through all that, you'd be singing a different tune."

She rolled her eyes again. "Baby," she muttered under her breath.

Okay, I had to admit she had a point. I was over-dramatizing things just a bit. Let's face it: after going through a never-ending series of suicide missions and laughing in the face of certain death time and time again, the odds finally caught up with me. The injuries I sustained during my last frantic mission to end what was now known as the Reaper War would have killed any other man. **(1)** I was damn lucky to make it out alive. Thanks to a shit-ton of life-threatening injuries sustained in the very last hours of the Reaper War, I had been perilously close to death's door. Apparently, I had spent the first month or so aboard one of the Alliance's medical frigates, going in and out of the operating room. **(2)** It's no exaggeration to say I owe my life to every doctor, nurse, technologist and laboratory assistant who gave me such exemplary care. My squad may have done a great deal to make sure I got through the war, but it was the medical professionals who kept me alive afterwards.

As for the torture sessions—officially known as Physical Therapy—there's no denying that it. _Sucked_. And yes, this is coming from a guy who went through Basic and N7 training, endured round after round of suicide missions, regularly found myself outnumbered and outgunned and had to do a lot of the heavy lifting during the Reaper War. I went from doing that without batting an eye to being drenched in my own sweat after attempting to move from one side of the bed to the other. Again: it _sucked_. I haven't felt that useless and helpless in a long, long time. I don't know how the physiotherapists handled all my whining and bitching, though I suspect a lot of alcohol was involved. **(3)**

As for going through the mandatory therapysessions… well, I'd seen a lot of things over the last few years, things that no one should ever have to experience. Ever. I'd had the overwhelming pressure of trying to wake the galaxy up to the threat of the Reapers despite the fact that most of them were militantly determined to embrace ignorance and denial, followed by the equally overwhelming pressure of trying to figure out how to stop the Reapers once they finally arrived. And my overactive imagination had this horrible tendency of reviewing the worst moments of my life—that, or whipping up new stuff—when I was sleeping.

It was… a relief, in a way, to have some kind of sounding board. Sure letting someone into my innermost thoughts wasn't a picnic. But it was better than letting all those nightmares drive me mad. Or force me into drowning out the horrors with alcohol or drugs—which, given my enhanced metabolism, would probably bankrupt me long before my liver gave out. Besides, all I really had to do was attend my scheduled appointments and do what I do best: open my big mouth and talk. Let's face it: I had it lucky. Real lucky. The fact that I was still around with my body in one piece—cybernetic bits notwithstanding—and my sanity intact—such as it is—was testament to that.

Bottom line: the care I'd received at Huerta Memorial Hospital was the best available anywhere in the galaxy. A lot of people—far too many, if you ask me—didn't have access to the kind of medical care at all. Most men, women and children would never benefit from the team of highly respected and galaxy-renowned medical professionals who gave such exemplary care—hell, they were lucky if they could even make it on the waiting list. If the price of all that was a couple scans, probes, exercises and chats, so be it—even if they seemed to do them each and every freaking day.

Still, I reserved the right to crack the occasional joke. Especially since I was starting to go a little stir-crazy. "Hey, I'm still waiting for those smokes."

"Cigarettes are a filthy, unhealthy and archaic habit," Miranda sniffed. "And not conducive to your recovery."

Neither of us mentioned TIMmy, though he had a penchant for cigars. Elitist snob. "They're also currency on the inside," I said instead.

"Again: this is not a prison."

That was when Anderson came in. "Who wants outta jail?" he sang.

"I do, I do!" I burst out.

"You're encouraging him," Miranda scowled.

"I'm only saying that now, when he's about to be discharged," he chuckled. "Trust me, I felt the same way."

Anderson had gotten discharged way before I did. Apparently his injuries weren't as serious, given that he'd _only _been shot. I, on the other hand, had been shot, bludgeoned, concussed and suffered bruised—if not ruptured—organs. Not that I'm keeping track or anything.

"He hasn't been discharged yet, thank you very much," a voice declared from outside the room. Dr. Gurira, my primary physician, swept in and fixed me with a pointed look. "We still have to go over your test results."

"_Final _test results, I hope. So what's the verdict, doc? Clean bill of health, or close enough?"

She pulled up my chart on her omni-tool and skimmed through the results. "Close enough," she eventually declared. As much as I'd like to keep you in for another night of observation, I can't deny that you've made remarkable progress in your recovery. And you've been a model patient—which I find surprising, considering the medical notes your doctor provided."

"I'll tell Dr. Chakwas that it's never too late to turn over a new leaf," I said in mock-seriousness. "So? I can go?"

She handed over a datapad. "As soon as you sign these forms. And remember. You have—"

"Scheduled appointments to finish my PT and a few more sessions with my psychologist. All of which are on my omni-tool's calendar," I finished.

"And mine," Miranda added.

"Well, then I can safely say farewell, knowing you're in good hands. Now hurry up and get out of here, Commander. It's a beautiful day, and someone needs that bed you're sitting in."

* * *

Miranda said her goodbyes once we left Huerta Memorial. Alliance brass wanted to grill her on Cerberus encryption techniques—never mind that she'd given a full report before the Reaper War began and had already been through six similar interviews since. She had my sympathies: I had a long series of debriefings lined up myself. The only reason I hadn't been bogged down in meeting after meeting where clueless REMFs nit-picked my every move was that my doctors had made it very clear that being subjected to such aggressive and stressful questioning could impede my recovery—yet another reason why I wasn't serious about calling my hospital time a prison sentence. But now that I was out in the real world…

…well, I could worry about that later. My first debriefing wouldn't be for another five days. "How're you holding up, Anderson?"

"Day by day, Shepard. You know how it is."

"Yeah."

"Hey, you got any plans?"

"Not really," I shrugged. "I was going to greet the Normandy when she docked, but Miranda told me they arrived a day early. Something about the life support systems?"

"Reports indicate their last combat encounter in the Attican Traverse caused quite a bit of damage," Anderson confirmed. "The number of plasma relays that blew was bad enough, but the fact that the resulting cascade failure took out the primary life support system was the tipping point. Thankfully, there were no casualties. Besides, the Normandy was already due for retrofits, anyway."

"True," I agreed. "Crew's already on shore leave. So I guess my schedule's wide open."

"Then why don't you come over to my place?" Anderson invited. "I don't think you've been there before."

That was news. "I didn't know you had a home on the Citadel."

"I needed somewhere to stay when I was with the Council, so I bought an apartment. Come on: I'll show you."

We walked across the street to the rapid transit terminal, which was conveniently situated outside the hospital. For once, we didn't have to wait forever before the next train arrived. Even better, we found a pair of seats. As we sat down, Anderson brought me up to speed on everything I'd missed while I'd been cooped up.

The mass relays were more or less functional. Kinda. They were a bit more prone to shutting down after an initial activation, unfortunately. More important was the amount of drift encountered after an average mass transit. Before the Reaper War, a drift of several thousand kilometres from the intended position was not unheard of. Nowadays, you were lucky if your ship was only ten or twenty thousand kilometres off the mark. The worst part, though, were when the corridor between mass relays would abruptly collapse mid-transit. There were only three documented cases thus far, but that was three too many. Just ask the Normandy. **(4)** As a result, use of the mass relays were restricted to essential traffic only—such as diplomatic couriers, military vessels and freighters/transports bearing cargo shipments.

That was why the Normandy was pretty much rushed back into service while I was convalescing. By all rights, she should have had extensive maintenance, if not a full-blown retrofit. But the requirement for military vessels was just too great. So after a basic and very hurried repair, she was rushed back into service to do everything from keeping the peace to laying down comm buoys to shipping emergency medical supplies. It's a testament to the skill and dedication of my crew that the Normandy didn't fall apart months ago.

Make no mistake: the Normandy was desperately needed. Virtually every major populated planet was still trying to clean up the mess left in the wake of the Reapers. The majority of the population were either in temporary housing or squatting in refugee camps. Just about every necessity of life was in critically short supply. You couldn't go a single hour without being inundated with stories detailing how people were impoverished, suffering and were generally desperate. Needless to say, business was very, _very _good for smugglers, organized crime and anyone with ties to the gray market.

Sadly, the same could not be said with the rest of the galaxy. You'd think people would be working together to recover and rebuild, as they were forced to do during the war. Sadly, without the external, non-discriminating and overwhelming threat of the Reapers, people were falling back into old habits and older hatreds. Everywhere you looked; people were either trying to hoard their resources or doing their damndest to score a sweet deal at the expense of someone else. On Thessia, some asari matriarch had made a name for herself by spouting an incomprehensible stream of inflammatory rhetoric, contradicting statements and bald-faced lies—but the general gist was that the current plight of the asari stemmed from the fact that they had done too much for the galaxy without getting anything in return. Over on Sur'Kesh, Dalatrass Crankypants was spearheading efforts to persuade, cajole and blackmail every other party into following the salarians' lead—which made her very popular amongst her own people and definitely unpopular with everyone else. **(5)** Earth wasn't much better. There were a lot of humans who believed that dealing with aliens was the root of all their suffering, citing the Reaper War as the latest example. As a result, they had far too much sympathy for the likes of Terra Firma or Homeward Sol. **(6) **

The worst of it was that you'd never know it judging by the way things stood on the Citadel. Money and political power went a long way towards to cleaning it up after Cerberus's attempted coup and the Reapers relocated it to Earth orbit. The Presidium looked as clean and pristine as it did when I first arrived at the Citadel, back when I had just been recruited as a Spectre. I could easily see a lot of people here—most of whom were the elite of the elite—doing their best to ignore how desperate things were out in the galaxy. Ignorance is bliss, after all.

I was spending so much time thinking about how bad things were that I didn't realize we had left the Presidium. In fact, I barely remembered our trip from Huerta Memorial to the rapid transit terminal. "Where are we heading?" I asked.

"The Wards," Anderson replied. "Silversun Strip, to be exact."

"Wanted to keep it real, did we?" I grinned.

"Maintaining a sense of humility and realism did seem easier when you weren't rubbing elbows with politicians on a regular basis," he agreed. "Plus, it was a lot cheaper."

That I could see.

"_Now approaching Silversun Strip," _the VI helpfully announced.

We got up, along with several other people, and got off the train. I looked around and took in the Silversun Strip for the first time. **(7)**

The Strip, as it was colloquially known as, was touted as a bustling commercial and recreation district. From what I could tell, it certainly lived up to its reputation. There were lots of people milling about from just about every species you could think of, all bathed in bright neon from all the shops and businesses. It was like someone took the best elements of Vegas, New York and Illium and put it all together.

From the rapid transit terminal, we could go left—which would eventually lead us to Armax Arsenal Arena according to the giant sign—straight ahead or right. Following Anderson's lead, we went right. Eventually we wound up at a large apartment complex called Tiberius Towers. A large _luxury _apartment complex, I realized as I looker closer. "Cheaper, huh?" I said.

"Believe it or not," he shrugged.

We walked up the limestone steps and were greeted warmly by the turian doorman. Well, Anderson was. My greeting was more polite and professional. After a bit of chit-chat, we went through the glass doors and into an enormous lobby that wouldn't have looked out of place on the Presidium. Marble floor, gold and crystal fixtures, polished wood desks and furniture—the former topped with marble, the latter wrapped in leather—Technicolor holograms, the works. Anderson stopped briefly to chat with the asari concierge, who seemed as pleased to see him as the doorman. Made sense: all joking aside, Anderson was very empathetic and down-to-earth—just some of the reasons why it was a pleasure and a privilege to know him. **(8)**

Eventually we made it to the elevator and took it up to the eighth floor. Turned out Anderson had a corner apartment. We walked down a corridor whose floor-to-ceiling windows offered a stunning view of the Strip. Just before we reached the door, Anderson's omni-tool chimed. He glanced at it and made a face. "Sorry, I have to take this," he said, leaning over and keying a pass code into the door console. "Go on in. Take a look around."

Nodding, I stepped through and took my first look at Anderson's apartment. At which point I said goodbye to any misconceptions I still had about it being a moldy dump, just because it was located in the Wards.

The front part of the apartment was all in white. White floor, white walls. Large windows—again, floor-to-ceiling—that filtered neon light through the blinds. Over on my left, a few steps led to some large, very expensive looking sofas sitting in front of an isolated wall with an inset fireplace. Immediately to my right, a row of plants stood behind a glass wall fixture. Up above on my right, a second level sported some kind of modern art sculpture and a couple paintings.

Seeing how Anderson did invite me to wander around, I decided to do just that. Starting with the near left corner and the piano that was sitting there. Almost missed it in my initial sweep. It was a real piano, with physical keys and everything. I hadn't seen one since Mom made me take lessons as a kid—we were at Arcturus Station at the time and one of the facilities included a music room complete with pianos and other instruments. I didn't realize Anderson played. Or maybe it came with the place. Who knew?

There was a datapad sitting on top of the piano. Picking it up and turning it on, I noticed that there was an audio file already cued up. Naturally I opened it.

"_Ahem. Okay. So… tombstone data. Admiral David Edward Anderson. Not sure why anyone would be interested, but thanks for asking. I was born in London on June 8__th__, 2137, the last of three children born to Ursula and Paul Anderson—a nurse and a flight mechanic, respectively. That's a little dry. Someone's going to spice this up, right? Never been much for the spotlight. Anyway… where was I?_

_It was a second marriage for my parents. They were almost fifty by the time they had me. My mother worked shifts, so my father would often take me to the base. While he worked, I watched transport ships and fighters take off. Worked his whole life around space travel, my father, but he never left Earth, not for a day. He was a good man. But that's just a side note. Don't put that in._

"_Who is it, Kahlee? Yes, I need to take that. Sorry, I have to go. I hope this is what you're after. I'll get to the more interesting N7 stuff next time."_

What the heck? If it was an introduction, it was a strangely formal one. Or it would have been, were it not for the personal details. Clearly it was intended for someone else to add to a larger body of work, one including 'more interesting N7 stuff'. If I had to guess, I'd say Anderson was working on his memoirs.

I could have sat down to tickle the ivories, but I hadn't even started to look at the rest of the apartment. **(9)** I went over to check out the fireplace. A small shelf sat above the fireplace, filled with books. Real books, I should add. Not stacks of datapads. Books. Hardcover, soft cover, in a variety of shapes and sizes. It's rare to see real physical books these days. Maybe they were just for show. Maybe they came with the place. But I had a feeling some, if not most, of them were ones that Anderson had bought and read himself.

I could have spent some more time perusing the books, but I had to check out that datapad. So I did. Just like the first one, it held a single audio file. So I sat down on the sofa, in front of the fire, and hit the Play button.

_"What was... what was I talking about? Early days, right. People ask why I joined the military. Everyone talks about honour, duty, sure. But that's never the whole truth. It's a hundred little things that add up to commitment. I joined because of a dog. Yeah, a dog. This patchy, mean, son of a bitch that used to bark at me every day on my way to school. It'd snarl, and I'd start running. Scared the hell out of me. I was just a kid. I remember being in a bad mood one morning. Angry. I can't recall why. When that dog started in on me, I snapped. Started barking right back. We both kept at it until we had nothing left. Dog never bothered me again. Why'd I join the military? Sometimes, you just gotta howl to make things right."_

Now that was a story worth hearing, if only to hammer home how everyone's story was different. Everyone had a different reason for enlisting. My reason? My mom was Alliance. I grew up on Alliance ships and Alliance stations, following my mom from one duty assignment to another. Oh, I did think about applying myself a little more. Maybe go into academia. Get a degree or two under my belt. But I soon discovered that that path wasn't for me. Deep down, I guess I always imagined myself serving in the Alliance, fighting the good fight. I couldn't really picture doing anything else with my life. I _certainly _never imagined a lifetime of constantly being shot at, always being outnumbered and generally lurching from one disaster to another like a drunken sailor.

So Anderson signed up because of a dog, huh? It was an amusing story, in and of itself. But I couldn't help thinking there was a hidden meaning underneath. How many times had Anderson butted heads with his superiors? Stood his ground and held true to his principles, no matter the cost to his reputation and career? Why would he do that? Why would anyone? Because sometimes, if you saw something that was so obviously, painfully wrong you had to make a stand and kick up a fuss in order to enact any real, meaningful change. God knows I had to do that once or twice.

I stood back up and went around the fireplace, where I found another sofa, facing a large wall-mounted screen. And a couple chairs. And a bar. Not just a cupboard stocked with drinks, mind you. An honest-to-gosh, fully-equipped bar whose dark-stained wood shelves and grey stone backsplash offered a colourful and complimentary contrast to the light wood flooring.

I discovered another datapad when I was discovering just how fully-equipped the bar was—the answer, if you must know, was _very_. Naturally I picked it up and turned it on, where I found another audio file:

_"No, no. It's fine. I've got a few minutes. First Contact War? Yeah, I was there.__ My first real combat. First for a lot of us. _

"_I remember one night, early in the war, strapped to my seat as our transport approached the LZ. Everyone was dead silent. Just the sound of breathing. Good men. I'd trained with all of them. We were always joking and horsing around. But not this time. Just the rattle of the shuttle… and that heavy breathing. Everyone was thinking the same thing: we're off to fight alien invaders. _Aliens_! Think about that. We all grew up wondering what was out there, if we were alone in the universe. Now we knew. We weren't alone. And we were in trouble._

"_So there we were, about to face an enemy as different and unknown as we could imagine. I knew I had to say something, keep the men relaxed. So I turned to the soldier beside me, Hendricks I think, and asked him how his mother was doing. 'Fine,' he said. 'Why?'_

_"'Cause I heard your momma's so ugly the marines thought she was a turian... almost shot her.' That got a few smiles._

_"Then Hendricks turned to me and said 'Hell Anderson, I heard it was a picture of your momma that started this goddamn war in the first place. Scared the turians shitless.' Everyone had a good laugh at that. And the boys fought great that night._

_"Sometimes, that's all it takes. A joke. A pat on the back. Just a little reminder that everything's gonna be okay." _

Well. I knew Anderson had served during the First Contact War. I never pressed for details—that sort of thing just wasn't done unless there was a good reason—so this was the first I heard of this particular story. What stuck with me was the idea of humour. How it could be used as a coping mechanism, a way to relieve tension, to help the morale of your colleagues and troops. There were some commanders out there who liked to keep their men and women constantly on the razor's edge, wound up so tight they couldn't breathe. I knew that for a fact, because I'd seen some of them. Served under some of them. And hated every moment of it. Working under constant fear was the best way to burn out your best and brightest, I felt. You needed the freedom to innovate. To improvise. To laugh. Clearly Anderson felt the same.

Moving forward, I headed towards a fair-sized kitchen marked by gray floor tiling—possibly granite, though I couldn't say for sure. Based on what I'd seen of the layout, I determined that this was the centre of the ground floor. Stainless steel appliances, pale countertops—granite or yet more marble—with pale wood finishing. In the middle of a kitchen stood a small cooking island attached to a breakfast bar, complete with a couple stools. Generic modern chic, but the kind that would appeal to even discerning tastes.

What appealed to _my _taste was the datapad. It was sitting on a small table, underneath a small vid-screen next to the coffee maker.

_"Embarrassing moments? I got more of those than anyone will ever know. Only way to learn something. But if I had to pick one to share... hmm. I had just gotten promoted to N7. Full of myself. King of the castle. Found myself buying drinks for undesirables in some run-down bar in the Wards. They toasted my recent promotion. Hell, they would've toasted batarian slavers if it got them more drinks. About the time my money ran out, my new friends turned on me._

_"I was outnumbered. Things didn't look good. My plan to get out of there involved lots of punching. Well, that worked for a while. Then a table hit me... or I fell down. When I came to, I saw a salarian putting the rest of the troublemakers down. A _salarian_! Moved like a damn cat, I swear. When everybody was out cold—or running—he walked over and helped me up. 'N7?' he asked. 'Yes, sir,' I replied. He looked over my collection of unconscious friends, nodding. 'Not bad, human,' he said. Then he walked away. I had met my first Spectre._

_"Learned an important lesson that day. No matter how good you think you are, there's always somebody quicker, faster and a helluva lot smarter than you just around the corner. That little lesson's kept me alive more than once since then." _

Ha! I never would have imagined Anderson to be such a naïve, cocksure man with more confidence than common sense. He was already the calm, seasoned man the galaxy now knew when I first met him, back when I was on the verge of graduating from OCS. I'd like to think I managed to avoid a few of those pitfalls, thanks to his guidance. I also noted that his talking seemed to be a bit smoother than some of the earlier recordings. No doubt he was starting to become accustomed to the unfamiliar idea of talking about himself.

Beyond that, I could see a larger table, illuminated by a chandelier that was definitely modern in its artistic design. In the centre stood a small scale model of the Normandy. Not the one I currently served on. The original SR-1. My first command. More artwork adorned the wall. I didn't know if all these paintings came with the place or whether Anderson had good taste.

Walking through an open door, I came across a corridor lined with gravel and more plants. To my left, the corridor led to a staircase and the corner of the ground floor with the sofa, screen and bar. To my right, the corridor opened up into a small living room. A smaller bar stood close to the entrance, facing a few chairs, a window seat and another large painting—this one a cityscape portrait of the Citadel from one of the Wards. Farther in the room, another modern light fixture shone down on a gambling table. Between the bar and the gambling table was a large bookshelf that was filled with more books. Clearly Anderson was an avid reader.

A nearby wall sported another inset fireplace. Yes, another fireplace. Which was notable in and of itself—most buildings don't bother installing a fireplace, or even an ersatz simulation of one. To see more than one in a single apartment was unheard of. For me, anyway. Maybe I need to get out more.

Or maybe I should investigate the datapad sitting on the window seat. I veered over to pick it up, absently noting the small terminal tucked into the far corner:

"_The turians? Hmm. I might not always see eye to eye with the politics and the individuals, but I have great respect for the turian military. Any Alliance soldier lucky enough to take part in their training programs will certainly be better for it. Their precision, skill and discipline come together in a way that's second to none. _

"_Not that I'm faulting our own people or training. It's just that, after fighting turians in the First Contact War, years later I had the opportunity to observe and train on Palaven. It was a turning point for me, and I would encourage any soldier to try it. _

"_It's a unique experience to put yourself in the squad of a turian commander. My commander was an uncompromising bastard named Bartus Aurix. If you can find him, just ask how the platoon I commanded was trounced in his strategy games. Humbling, but I've used what I learned that day many times. The xenophobes will have their say, but I think it's vital that we do more of this kind of cross-species training._

"_There you go. Heh. And if you do find General Aurix, let me know—I owe him money."_

Wow. I'd heard about the turians offering cross-species training programs. The Citadel had a few things like that as well. But I never knew Anderson had the chance to participate in such a program himself. Now I was _really _envious. He'd had the privilege of doing something that I'd never done. And learned a lot, by all accounts. I made a mental note to see if any such programs were still available. Probably not, with the current disorganized and chaotic state the galaxy was in. But you never knew.

I was about to leave when I spotted another datapad. It was tucked into one of the bookshelves near the gambling table. When I turned it on, Anderson's voice sounded… quieter. More solemn. As I listened, I soon learned why:

"_You never asked me about this, but… my wife just called. My ex-wife. Nobody likes to talk about the toll that long months apart can have on military relationships. She wasn't military. She couldn't handle it… no, that's not true. It's not about military and non-military, damn it. It's… space flight. _Space flight!_ Finding the mass relays—miracles of engineering. Human imagination rising to meet our desires. We pay a price for that curiosity, that drive. Our relationships suffer. People we love suffer. But that's reality and it's worth the cost. I must have thought it was… I guess I still do. In the end, you just hope you made the right choices."_

There was no denying that military life could be hard. Long periods of separation, constantly moving around rather than having a chance to establish roots, the ever-present uncertainty and dread… civvies often had some difficulty dealing with it. But as Anderson had said, any boyfriend/girlfriend/partner/spouse would face the same challenge, regardless of military or non-military status. Some people—like Ellie and Awesome—found a way to make it work. Some people—like Anderson and his ex—could not. It was a situation that most people weren't really aware of or fully appreciated… until they had to face it themselves.

And now I was with Miranda. We'd started out under the most bizarre circumstances possible—seriously, how many people can say they first met their boyfriend when they were asked to retrieve said boyfriend's corpse from an information broker and bring him back from the dead? We found ourselves fighting together against impossible odds and, somehow, falling in love. Then we were separated when I turned myself in to face a court martial over the destruction of the Bahak system. Then we were reunited during the war. What would we do, now that the war was over? We hadn't really discussed it. And we still didn't have to… for now. But sooner or later, we would have to sit down and figure out what we were going to do.

Leaving the living room, I passed through the kitchen to check out the other side. I found another flight of stairs, a washroom and a guest bedroom. After briefly checking to see whether there were any datapads in the washroom—hey, you never know—I entered the bedroom. My eyes scanned over the walk-in closet, the pull-up bar, the punching bag in the corner, the bed, the bookshelves lined with another varied assortment of reading material… and settled on a datapad. Aha!

"_The Normandy? A brand new ship. _My_ ship. You don't forget that moment." _

Damn straight.

"_The first time you're standing there, the whole crew looking to you for direction? Unforgettable. I'd led men and women before that. Seen a lot of combat already. Always managed to find my way home in one piece. Do that a few times, you begin to think you know better than the next guy. Maybe you do. I don't know. But if you're lucky_—_r_eally_ lucky—you find yourself on a good ship, in front of a good crew. A crew you can trust with your life. Gifted, disciplined, brave. All of them eager to set sail into the endless black ocean. I still remember my XO asking what my orders were. 'Shepard,' I said, 'let's see what we can find.'"_

Funny how everyone looks back at the past from different perspectives. When I was first standing on the Normandy, I thought I'd finally found an escape. Finally escaped a revolving door of never-ending, increasingly hazardous, death-defying missions. Finally got out of being constantly being praised and complimented and lauded as a hero, when so many other people who deserved such accolades more than I did wound up dead or unrecognized. And then I found out I'd been tapped to become a Spectre. And wound up having Prothean data rammed into my brain. And wound up facing even more hazardous, death-defying missions—including an actual suicide mission. And then I fought—and almost died in—the Reaper War.

But if it wasn't for that, I could have wound up in a much darker, seedier, morally compromising lifestyle. I never would have gained my own command and experienced what Anderson so brilliantly described for myself. Never would have met so many wonderful people, some of whom became brothers and sisters in blood. Some of which became my closest friends. One of whom became my girlfriend. It was a crazy, terrifying, heartbreaking ride but, looking back, maybe it was worth it. In the end.

"Sorry about that," Anderson apologized, gesturing to his omni-tool. "I've been organizing a series of fundraisers, including one in Whistler this weekend. Unfortunately, my caterer bowed out at the last minute and I have to find a replacement. But that's not your concern. So: what do you think?"

"It's amazing," I said honestly. "You have a great place here."

"Glad you think so. Because I was wondering if you'd be willing to house-sit for me."

It takes some doing to leave me at a loss for words. Anderson had succeeded. "Are you serious?" I managed.

"Most of those fundraisers are going to be on Earth, so I'll be spending the majority of my time down there in the near future. I need someone to keep an eye on things while I'm planetside. Besides, you need a place to live—and I'm not talking about your cabin on the Normandy. Somewhere to recuperate, recharge, clear your head."

I honestly didn't know what to say. So I changed the subject. "How long have you lived here?"

"Bought it while I was still on the Citadel Council. When Kahlee and I got back together, I showed it to her. She had the same reaction you did. In fact, she wanted us to settle down here."

"So I'm just holding down the fort until you and Kahlee can come back?" I asked.

"Probably. Maybe. I don't know." Anderson sighed. "Truth is, I spent the entirety of the war fighting up and down the streets of Earth, frantically trying to save as many people as I could. Desperately doing what I could to leave another day. Now, after all the time I spent there… it's hard to bring myself to leave. Everything I told you about—the destruction, the homeless refugees, the suffering—Earth has all of that and more. As much as I'd like to move back to the Citadel… I don't know if I can. Not when I know how much rebuilding and healing has to be done. That'll take years, Shepard. Decades, even. I need to be there, in the thick of things.

"In the meantime, someone has to keep an eye on this place. Truth be told, you'd be doing me a favour."

"That's… very generous."

"It's practical," he said simply. "We need you in the best shape possible. Rested. Focused. Mentally as well as physically. God knows you've earned it."

"If you say so."

"I say so. What do you say?"

There was only one thing I could say: "You got yourself a deal. And, well, thank you."

"You're welcome. And I'm glad you said yes. Been meaning to do this for a while now. Feels good to finally check it off the list, so to speak. Here are all the passwords you'll need," he added, handing me an OSD. "I'll let the concierge know you've agreed to stay here and arrange to have your belongings shipped over here. In the meantime, make yourself at home, damn it. It's yours now."

"I'm sure I can manage," I said wryly. "Just one question?"

"Yeah?"

"Any reason why you have excerpts of your memoirs on individual datapads scattered all over your apartment? Wouldn't it make more sense to keep them all together—either physically on a single datapad or linked together over some extranet cloud network?"

"Maybe. But then you wouldn't have as much fun finding them. I know you've been through a lot, Shepard, and I wanted to ease you back into familiar territory, so to speak. If you really did look in every nook and cranny to discover those datapads, well, I know you're back to your old self."

So there was a method to his madness after all. Huh.

"Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to find out if there are any caterers who can make it to Earth and whip up enough food to satisfy six thousand humans and non-humans. Never thought I'd miss the damn Reapers."

* * *

Well. That was… unexpected.

For the time being, this place was now… mine. Even more reason to see what it had to offer.

Having seen all there was to see on the ground floor, I went upstairs. As I ascended the stairs, I noted the vines and plants adorning some of the walls like artwork. Living artwork, that is. When I reached the next floor, I saw an actual tree growing out of a small patch of gravel and soil. I wondered if it was real and, if so, wondered what kind of precautions were in place to prevent all the flora from ruining the undeniably beautiful apartment.

The tree faced another small seating area, set between two more bookshelves. It boasted two sofas, facing each other across a coffee table, all set within a clearly marked square of dark granite tiles. A large portrait completed the stylish arrangement.

Turning around, I spotted a large bedroom. It seemed spacious, but empty. The only things in it were another piece of artwork, a bed and a desk. Looking around, I found another walk-in closet and an ensuite bathroom, but that was it. Guess Anderson hadn't had the chance to bring some more stuff in to personalize it. I wasn't surprised to find another datapad with another audio file. I was, however, pleasantly surprised at what the file contained:

"_You asked me to talk about the SSV Normandy—the Normandy SR-1. As commander of the Tokyo, I was consulted on the Normandy's design and on board for her initial training exercises. The average person probably doesn't know that the Normandy was a joint project with the turians. It was a controversial venture at the time. Tensions were high. And the acting CO, Elli Zander, was a better special ops soldier than a diplomat. She ran out of patience with turian posturing and politicking during the Normandy's construction. The chief architect of the drive core, Octavio Tatum, and his team of turian engineers, were in the CIC for final training exercises. Tempers flared when Zander pushed the limits of the stealth system, waiting to vent the IES well past what Tatum was comfortable with. I tried to calm the situation, but it still ended with the turian engineers in shackles and a human/turian fistfight in Chora's Den later._

"_Funny now… when I first laid eyes on the Normandy, she was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen. I still had that thought in mind the day after that training run, when Admiral Wright found me on the bridge. 'She's yours,' he said. 'Can't trust her to Zander. 'Send me a list of crew from the Tokyo you'd like and prep for your first mission.' Short command, thanks to Saren. Still. One of the highlights of a long career."_

This day was just _full _of insights into Anderson's past. I knew he'd been involved with the SR-1's construction long before I came aboard, but this was another story that I had never heard of before. He had always been vague on the circumstances surrounding the change in command. Even now, in this biography, he took care to be respectful rather than critical. Learning the real story, the whole story, just made me respect him that much more.

After checking out the bathroom for any more datapads—hey, you never know—I wandered back outside. Down the hall was the master bedroom. This one was just as spacious, and almost just as empty. I say almost because it had a few things the other bedrooms didn't. First, it had a separate room holding an armour locker—for storing and modifying hardsuits—and a workbench for modding out weapons—because some people want to optimize the shit out of their guns and others find that kind of tweaking to be therapeutic. The ensuite master bathroom was the largest in the apartment, mainly because it held an actual hot tub instead of the shower that was installed in the other bathrooms. Why the hot tub was filled to the brim and bubbling away was beyond me, unless Anderson had turned it on before leaving the apartment and coming over to Huerta Memorial. Seemed like an uncharacteristic waste of energy, but what did I know? This whole day was turning out to be full of surprises.

Coming out of the master bedroom, I saw a flight of stairs that led back down. Over on my left, there was the small art gallery I'd spotted earlier, overlooking the main seating area. The paintings were colourful enough, but I don't think I was sophisticated enough to appreciate all the deep meanings and hidden messages. I certainly wasn't sophisticated enough to appreciate the metal sculpture, other than the possibility that it looked like some post-post-post modernist interpretation of a rachni. I soon retreated to the seating area on the second floor, where I soon discovered a datapad tucked into one of the bookshelves, again holding an audio file.

"_Sure, I can talk about Commander Shepard." _

Um… what? Me? Really?

"_Big topic. There's been a lot written about the commander, but most of it isn't true."_

Amen, brother.

"_People are quick to judge. They don't know the whole story. _I _don't even know the whole story. But I know the man. Met him early in his career. Followed him as he rose through the ranks. Worked with him, fought with him. Learned I could trust him with my life and never, ever, had cause to question that. Shepard's had some rough patches. Who of us hasn't? He's been forced to fight a lot of battles alone. Faced impossible odds and situations that no amount of training could prepare anyone for. Made to shoulder burdens that no one should ever have to bear. God only knows how he got out of some of that in one piece. Makes your head spin just to think about it. _

"_Thing is, you never heard a complaint. Never once got 'No, sir. I can't do that.' He never hesitated to do his duty. Often went above and beyond what anyone could reasonably expect. Few people know what Shepard's been through. I'd like to think I come pretty close. And I worry sometimes he forgets: there's a whole bunch of people who lose sleep over him getting back home. I worry he forgets that he's not alone. Maybe it doesn't need to be said. Maybe we're too dumb to say it._

"_Soldiers like the commander are rare. Men like Shepard… even more rare." _

I had to stumble over to the closest sofa and sit down. I was… I couldn't… I was just so… amazed. Grateful. Not for his praise, though that meant everything to me. But that he acknowledged what I had gone through, sympathized for the non-stop shit show I had endured and told me that people were actually worried about me. _Me_. I couldn't possibly express how grateful I was, how desperate I was to hear his words. To hear I wasn't alone.

It took a while for me to recover, which was why several minutes passed before I realized there was another datapad sitting on the coffee table in front of me. The last one, as it turned out:

"_Okay. I have your new questions here. 'As a leader, do I ever feel that the ends justify the means? Spirit of law over word of law?' I'm not going to touch that with a ten-foot pole, but I think I know what you're after. You're referring to the way I, uh, 'arranged' to have the Normandy released to Commander Shepard before the Battle of the Citadel."_

If by 'arranged,' you meant break into Udina's office, punch his lights out and hack his computer to override the system lockout on the Normandy. Which I still enjoyed, by the way.

"_I'm not sure how valuable hindsight is to the military. Obviously, it worked out for the best. Without the Normandy and Commander Shepard free to do what they needed to do—what we _needed_ them to do—Saren might have taken the Citadel. I think it's clear now what a different galaxy this would be if that had happened._

"_I did what I had to. If I had been wrong, I would've gladly accepted the repercussions. The real trick is… never being wrong. Ha. If you're looking for more action and less philosophy in these notes, let me know." _

Once again, Anderson had my sympathies. I'd danced the razor's edge far too often in my career. Granted, there were times where I casually, even gleefully, disregarded all those pesky rules and regulations. But there were times where I did so while knowing all too well that the laws were there for a reason, and I was bending—or breaking—them because it was the only way to do what I had to do. During those times, I knew that I would have to own up and assume responsibility if anything went wrong. Because that was the cost of having all that power and authority and freedom. Ultimately, that's why I turned myself in after Bahak.

Well, that was enough walking down memory lane. Time to live in the present. And that meant catching up on current events in the galaxy. Always interesting—though sometimes depressing—to read or watch the news.

When I turned on the news, though, I got something slightly different. Different, but no less interesting. Fumbling around, I found the remote control and turned up the volume, as Alliance News Network reporter Khalisah al-Jilani began to speak.

"_A few years ago, I had a chance to sit down with one of Earth's most decorated soldiers, Admiral David Anderson," _al-Jilani said_. _**(10)**_ He was kind enough to answer my questions and talk about his career. It was intended to be the first in a mini-series that would take a more personal look at life in the Alliance military in general, and Admiral Anderson's life in particular. Sadly, it wasn't finished when the Reapers invaded. Tonight's show is dedicated to all the soldiers out there: the ones who gave their lives to keep us safe during the Reaper War… and the ones who fight to keep us safe while we build towards a brighter tomorrow." _

The screen switched to a well-lit room. Anderson sat in a chair, facing Khalisah. _"Admiral Anderson," _al-Jilani said,_ "today marks the thirtieth anniversary of the N7 program. Can you describe your first day of training in this now-famous program?"_

"_The Interplanetary Combatives Training program is all business from day one," _Anderson began.

"_How so?"_

"_We're given basic gear, then separated and stranded on an asteroid with no nav data. The test ends when the last person runs out of oxygen."_

"_Sounds daunting."_

If she only knew. I used to have nightmares about that day… before the universe started taking an interest in my misery.

"_What happens to the ones who run out of air first?" _Khalisah asked.

"_Out of the program. The best N7s can survive alone, but work together to survive even longer."_

"_That's very impressive, Admiral. Deep space survival training. That has to be… so difficult. All of it would take such strength of character, just plain strength. But then, you seem like a strong person."_

Well this was an interesting surprise: most of my past experiences with Khalisah were… rather antagonistic, if I was honest. She tended to lead with loaded questions, trying to put a slant or spin to support a predetermined and decidedly sensationalist story. But all these compliments, bordering on gushing adoration… if you asked me, Khalisah was smitten. Anderson may have felt the same, though he was too polite to say so. _"I'm sorry, is there a question in there?" _he asked instead.

"_Well, does the program make the man, or do you think you were born for this?"_

"_It's a bit of both, I suppose. Every soldier reaches a point in their career, sometimes more than once, when they are asked to give more than they ever thought they could. That moment is the test. I've seen men and women, almost sure to fail, persevere long past the point of breaking. That experience changes them."_

Amen.

"_Others, with all the gifts and abilities, fail in that moment. Sometimes, they pick themselves up and carry on. Sometimes, they're just done."_

"_What about you? What was your moment?"_

"_I've had a few. None of which I'd like to share. But… I think the toughest tests are still ahead of me."_

"_What makes you say that?"_

"_Call it a hunch."_

Or the foreknowledge that the Reapers were coming and no one wanted to do anything about it. Not that I'm bitter or anything.

"_Soldier's intuition?"_

"_Something like that."_

"_Do you trust your intuition? I mean, do you follow your heart over your mind?"_

"_Well, huh, it depends on the day," _Anderson joked. Then he seemed to give the question some second thought.

"_No… I suppose if I were to be honest, I do trust my instincts," _he said. _"The problem is… war isn't orderly. And the enemy is never predictable. Even the most experienced veteran is going to find themselves in situations they haven't trained for. In those instances, and there's more than I'd like to admit, your instincts are the only thing keeping you alive. That, and the men and women you're fighting beside."_

"_But soldiers are only as good as their leader, isn't that true?"_

"_Yeah. A good leader can make an okay squad great. A bad leader… well, war tends to make examples of them."_

"_What makes a good leader, then?"_

Anderson considered that question carefully. _"Hmm… A good leader is someone who values the lives of his or her soldiers over the success of the mission, but understands that, sometimes, the cost of failing a mission is higher than the cost of losing those soldiers."_

"_That's a terrible line to have to walk."_

"_Yes, it is," _he nodded soberly_. "But war is a terrible thing." _

"_Thank you for your time, Admiral."_

"_Thank you."_

The screen switched back to a close-up of Khalisah. _"Admiral Anderson's words proved prophetic, as the Reapers launched their galactic invasion a month later. Today, the Admiral is on Earth, leading efforts to rebuild our home after their devastating onslaught and their horrific occupation. _

"_I'm Khalisah al-Jilani. Thank you for watching."_

Most people would probably find this interview quite educational about military life in general and the N7 program in particular. For my part, I was more interested in Khalisah. She was not as confrontational as I expected. Her line of questions, her overall demeanour… it all added up to a more thoughtful and insightful interview, rather than the yellow journalism I had come to expect. **(11)** Maybe her apparent 'girl-crush' on Anderson persuaded her to soften her approach. Or maybe she was finally starting to change the way in which she pursued her profession. Certainly our last encounter, in the early days of the Reaper War, had ended on a more respectful note. So perhaps there was hope after all.

The chime of my omni-tool interrupted my introspection. Seemed like I'd gotten a new e-mail. I knew I should've muted the damn thing. Oh well. Accessing my e-mail, I began wading through the newest entries in my inbox. Spam. PT appointment reminder. Spam. Notification that my hearing got pushed back to a few days—what a terrible shame that was. More spam. Message from Joker. Wait, what?

_Subject: Dinner at sushi place on me!_

_Hey Shepard,_

_I've got a few things I wanted to go over with you. With the Normandy in dry dock, I figured we could meet up at that Ryuusei sushi place down in the Wards. I hear it's the best._

_Joker_

I hadn't had any sushi, much less good sushi, in _years_. Now was as good a time as any to change that. Especially with the scuttlebutt and reviews I'd heard about Ryuusei. I fired off a quick acknowledgement before turning off the lights and leaving the apartment, one question burning in my mind:

How fresh was the sashimi?

* * *

_(1): The term 'Reaper War' was coined by Future Content Corporation News. It was first used in an editorial article published with their last issue of 2186._

_(2): Alliance medical staff declined to provide specifics, citing patient confidentiality. Miranda confirmed that Shepard did undergo several procedures, but was reluctant to provide specifics-something that was unusual for anyone who knew her._

_(3): I highly doubt that, though I admit I am relying on my knowledge of Shepard's particular brand of humour than any hard data._

_(4): The Normandy encountered such a collapse when attempting to leave the Sol system and crash-landed on a previously uncharted planet. Her crew was declared Missing In Action until they were able to re-establish contact with the Alliance, though it took even more time to affect the necessary repairs and return to Citadel space__. _

_(5): Shepard developed a habit of assigning disparaging nicknames to individuals he disapproved of, though he generally kept their use confined to his own thoughts and his personal log._

_(6): Both political parties with xenophobic and radical views. Terra Firma, as the older and more established party, opposed humanity's interaction with nonhuman cultures and its integration with the galactic community. Homeward Sol, a more fringe and extremist party, opposed human expansion beyond the Sol system itself and had been officially charged with counts of espionage, sabotage and domestic terrorism. _

_(7): While Shepard had visited the Citadel several times up to this point, he usually confined his movements to a small subset of locations. As a result, he was not familiar with the vast majority of the Citadel._

_(8): At the risk of sounding cynical, I think it's also likely that the staff greeted Anderson because that was part of their job._

_(9): A human idiom meaning to play the piano, a human acoustic stringed musical instrument. They function by pressing physical keys, which cause a padded hammer to strike the strings. That impact causes a vibration, which are transmitted through a bridge to a soundboard that amplifies the sound. When the key is released, a damper stops the vibration, thus ending the sound. The keys can be either black or white, the latter of which used to be made out of ivory. _

_(10): This interview was actually repeated several times over the course of the week. It was simply a matter of coincidence that one of its viewings aired while Shepard viewed the apartment. For his part, Admiral Anderson found it somewhat embarrassing. _

_(11): A human term for a form of journalism that relies less on legitimate, well-researched news and more on exaggerations, sensationalism, scandal-mongering and unprofessional and unethical practices. _


	2. Beware the Fish

**A Hero by Any Other Name**

**Chapter 2: Beware the Fish**

Humanity's made quite a reputation for itself throughout the known galaxy. That isn't necessarily a good thing. We are the guys who 'recklessly' activated mass relays willy-nilly without a clue as to where they would go or who was on the other end—a big no-no because 'everyone' knew better. We were one of the participants—some would argue the instigators—of the First Contact War. As a result, there were those who felt humans were either primitive simpletons bumbling around or overly aggressive hotheads charging forward without thinking of the consequences.

It wasn't all bad, though. We impressed people with our drive and energy. Our curiosity and adaptability were noted early on. Our economy and military prowess grew by leaps and bounds. We were granted an embassy on the Citadel, had yours truly inducted into the Spectres and got a seat on the Council in record time.

Lost in all those achievements were smaller, subtler things, like the introduction of human cuisine to the galactic community. Everything from chocolate to roast lamb to sushi. And there was no better ambassador of the latter than Ryuusei—which explained why it was so damn popular.

There were about a dozen people lined up, patiently waiting to get in. Everyone was dressed up in semi-formal attire, which made me feel slightly under-dressed in my leather jacket, T-shirt and jeans. So much for the accuracy of the dress code on Ryussei's extranet website. Oh well. Stifling a sigh, I joined the queue and resigned myself to a long wait. If there was one thing my extended stint in the hospital had taught me, it was the value of patience.

A couple minutes later, I realized the host was motioning to me. I pointed at myself, at which point he began nodding emphatically. Leaving the queue, I walked down the stairs, acutely aware of all the people staring at me as I skipped the line.

"Ah, Commander Shepard," he said with a thick and dubiously accurate French accent. "Your table is ready." He pointed to a table near the back of the restaurant. Peering in, I spotted Joker—who was dressed in his usual crewman's uniform. Relieved that I wasn't the only one _**not**_ dressed to the nines, I nodded my thanks to the host and went inside. **(1) **

Where I was immediately surrounded by fish—and no, I don't mean the food. For some reason, Ryuusei had a unique idea as far as interior design was concerned: the ceiling, floor and the occasional pillar were made of tempered glass—or some other transparent material—behind which were gallons of water and dozens of fish. The end result was that various species of fish were swimming above and below me. It was almost as if I was underwater. Which was kinda cool, if you ignored the flashbacks of plunging deep to the depths of the ocean on some hidden planet in the middle of nowhere to have a conversation with eldritch beings from the dawn of time and—nope, no, not going there, full stop! **(2) **

I needed a moment to compose myself. To keep the tides of panic—damn it, not another ocean reference—from rising up to overwhelm me. Thankfully that moment was just a second, maybe two, in the real world. In my mind, it lasted a lot longer. The tingling at the back of my neck didn't help. Once I'd settled down, I began looking for a way back to familiar territory. Which meant looking for ways to harass random people and butt into their private conversations.

Unfortunately, opportunities were few and far between. Apparently when people sit down together for a meal, they have this strange, almost selfish, notion that they should talk to _each other_. And the bartender—who also boasted a French accent for some reason—was actually more concerned with doing his job—serving drinks—than trading gossip and stories with his customers. It seemed that everyone had better things to do than sit or stand around until I had the time to accost them. Can you believe it? About all I could gather was that one woman didn't know the difference between wine and sake and some turian was trying—and failing—to convince his friends that he knew how good Ryuusei was before its reputation took off.

Slightly disoriented, I made my way to my table. I tried to ignore the fact that I was automatically double-checking and triple-checking the points of entry—the front entrance I had just walked through and two rear passageways leading to the washrooms and kitchen. I tried to stop myself from verifying how close every civvie in the restaurant was—too close—and how I would take them out if they suddenly turned hostile—thrust into the brain for an instant kill, stabs to the heart and lower body for serious trauma or cuts around the neck to open up the carotid arteries. Under the circumstances, that was probably not the healthiest mindset to have. Hopefully, Joker would provide some semblance of normalcy.

"Hey, Shepard! Not bad, huh? This sushi place is _serious_. Like 'French guy at the door' serious."

Close enough, I decided as I sat down. Flagging down a passing waiter, I ordered a glass of water. Alcohol didn't seem like a good idea at the moment.

"Only had to save the galaxy three times to get a table here," Joker continued. "You see the line outside?"

We looked at the line. It hadn't gotten any shorter. At least one woman—dressed in Alliance blues—had apparently gotten fed up with waiting and was doing her best to get inside. The host was doing his best to block her progress. I watched her antics for a while—she seemed rather agitated—before turning my attention back to Joker.

"But here I am," Joker continued, "drink in hand. Best pilot in the universe _and _a rock star."

Bad jokes and bravado. In other words, normalcy achieved. I breathed a quiet sigh of relief and leaned back into my seat.

At that point, the waiter came back with my water. I waited until he left before taking a sip and asking my next question: "Any news from the Normandy?"

Joker shrugged. "Oh, you know. Maintenance stuff. It's hard knowing a bunch of strangers are poking around my ship. I-I mean… your ship," he hastily added.

One could argue that the Normandy was my ship, considering I was the CO. One could also argue that she was really Joker's ship, since he was the pilot and had a deeper, almost intimate, connection with her nuances—and that was before he started a relationship with EDI.

Ultimately, I wouldn't have raised a stink about it back then, and I wasn't about to start now. "The best thing we can do right now is park her and let the techs do their work."

"Yeah, you're right," Joker conceded with great reluctance. "Maybe an oil change, space-tire rotation."

"Right. Trust me. It'll do her some good."

"Oh, I trust _you_. Not sure about those shifty aerospace engineers. Always stealing the silverware."

"The silverware will be just fine," I said. "Let someone else do the work for once. Hackett's orders. You're on shore leave."

"Yeah, whether we like it or not," Joker muttered.

"I'm sure you'll manage."

"I may need a drink that comes with an umbrella."

Leaning forward, I gave him a grin. "I'm the first human Spectre. I'll get you _two _umbrellas."

"Awesome use of power, boss," Joker approved.

With that out of the way, Joker put his 'game face' on. "So… your e-mail said it was important?"

"My e-mail?" I repeated blankly. "I'm here because I got a message from you."

Joker was equally confused. "The hell? I didn't send anything."

Aw, crap. I put down my water and double-checked the exits again, still feeling the tingling along the back of my neck. Maybe I was being paranoid, but something wasn't adding up.

"Commander!"

It was the Alliance woman I'd seen earlier. Somehow, she'd made it past the host. "Excuse me, sorry," she said as she dodged and weaved her way towards me. "Alliance business, so sorry. Commander—excuse me—this is urgent!"

"I don't think that's the umbrella lady," Joker said wryly.

The woman finally came to a stop by our table. "Commander Shepard. I'm Staff Analyst Maya Brooks, Alliance—excuse me—" She broke off and tried to salute, only to knock her cap off her head with the datapad she held with an iron grip. A brief comedy of errors unfolded as she tried to retrieve her cap, straighten the creases out of her uniform, salute me, repeat her earlier error and catch herself just in the nick of time. Finally, she transferred her datapad to her other hand and saluted me. All of which was more formal than necessary, but I digress.

"Staff Analyst Maya Brooks, Alliance Security," she finally said. "I've come to warn you, Commander: there are people trying to kill you."

Now it must be said that that was a serious statement. The potential repercussions were quite grave and shouldn't be taken lightly. But I'd spent much of my career going from one dangerous mission to another—at first due to an overly exaggerated reputation; later because I felt it was my responsibility to perform my duty. I'd spent the last several years facing overwhelming odds until it finally became routine. I'd died and come back to life as a cybernetic ninja zombie, only to prep for the suicide mission to end all suicide missions. Then I faced down the Reapers in a horrific, cataclysmic, galaxy-wide war, one which took me well past my physical and emotional limits and almost killed me. Now, having just been discharged after months of non-stop surgeries and rehabilitation, all I wanted was a nice dinner. But apparently that was too much to ask.

So perhaps I can be forgiven for dropping my head in my hands and groaning "Again? Seriously?"

"It's not his first time," Joker explained wryly to a confused Brooks.

"No, I don't mean Cerberus—they're kinda disorganized at the moment—or the Reapers—who are destroyed, thank God. I mean other people. _New_ people. They're… it's… " Brooks took a deep breath and started again. "Someone is hacking your account. Comm channels, personal records. They're targeting you, specifically."

Which could explain why Joker and I were sitting down for dinner, erroneously believing the other had set the whole thing up. "Targeting me? Why? What do they want?"

"The intel isn't definitive yet. I'd rather not guess. Last time I guessed without definitive intel, we almost landed troops on a gas giant. Which is bad. Do you know how quickly people can die on a gas giant without adequate protection? When they say gravity's a bitch, they aren't kidding. Whoever they are. I mean, gravity doesn't—"

"Hang on, Brooks," I said soothingly. "Take a breath."

She took a breath. And another. And another.

"From the top," I said once she calmed down. "What do you know?"

Brooks was about to speak when her eyes suddenly darted to the entrance. My eyes followed, just in time to see a man brush past the host. "Excuse me," I heard him exclaim indignantly. "You don't have a reservation!"

The next man replied with his fist. As the host collapsed, he entered the restaurant, followed by several other men. All of them were wearing military hardsuits with an urban camouflage pattern of varying shades of grey, interspersed with dark blue and black patches… and the occasional not-so-stealthy glow of turquoise green light panels. All of them were armed.

The back of my neck was still tingling. At least now it was due to a genuine threat and not hyperawareness.

"Good evening, ladies and gentlemen," the lead man shouted above the din of the crowd. "Tonight's performance is brought to you by random acts of violence."

To hammer that point home, his men began shooting the ceiling with an appalling amount of enthusiasm. I found myself worrying that they'd shatter the glass and we'd be hammered with gallons of water and fish. **(3)** Then I chastised myself for entertaining such wildly remote possibilities when there was a more imminent threat at hand.

"Man, I love show business," the leader said with gusto. Clearly he was enjoying himself. Then he motioned to his men. "Spread out, boys! Find me Shepard!"

Well, I guess I knew who had lured me out here. I hastily dragged Joker out of his seat and down behind the table. Then I looked for Brooks… who'd gotten separated in the confusion and was trying to hide behind a small cabinet a few metres away. "Stay there, I'm coming," I hissed.

She nodded.

"Joker?" I whispered.

"Ow, my pancreas."

I was about to say something when I heard an indignant "Hey!" followed by a triumphant "Got one, sir!" Ignoring Joker's pain, I dared to peek out from behind the table. One of the hostiles was in the process of dragging Brooks towards the centre of the room. She appeared to be their only captive, as the rest of the well-heeled clientele had taken the opportunity to run for the exits. Surprisingly, there weren't any other hostages. Considering there were six or seven armed hostiles, you'd think they would have captured a few more civvies. I'd have to think about that later. Right now, I was just thankful that there was only one hostage.

Unfortunately, that hostage was the one woman who might have any explanation on what the hell was going on.

"Damn it," I cursed. I had to get her back, plain and simple. Negotiating for her release would be preferable, but I didn't exactly have a strong bargaining platform. I'd much rather go on the offensive.

There were a few problems, though. First, I had no armour. I did have a personal shield generator, which would provide some protection, but it was hardly the kind of protection I was used to. Second, I had no weapon. Third, I needed to get Joker to safety. He had many talents—from his piloting skills to his smart mouth—but combat wasn't one of them. Besides, there was something else I needed him to do: "Find the crew! I need them here or at Tiberius Towers ASAP. I'm going after her!"

"Find the crew. Got it!" Joker nodded. He then proceeded to stand up and hobble towards the back—_in plain view of anyone with a working pair of eyes_! What the fuck was he doing?! My eyes widened in horror.

A shadow fell over me. I glanced up, expecting the worst. Thankfully, it was just one of those hostiles idly walking by… until he spotted Joker and his not-so-subtle attempt to leave. "Hey!" He raised his pistol and aimed it at my pilot.

Lunging up, I grabbed him, braced myself and flipped him over the table and onto the floor. Instinctively, I activated my omni-blade and plunged it into his heart. Quickly verifying that he was dead, I reached out and grabbed his pistol. To my surprise, I recognized the model—an M-11 Suppressor. Light, compact, silent and extremely lethal. Suppressing my glee at getting to play with this baby again, I looked up.

Joker was staring back at me. "You used me as bait?" he whispered incredulously.

"You made yourself bait by standing up!" I hissed.

"You used me as _bait_?"

"Will you get going already?"

Joker did get going, though he wasn't about to let up just yet. I had just crouched back down behind the table when I heard him shout out: "He used me as bait! Did you see that? Saviour of the Citadel uses 'brittle-bones guy' as bait!"

Normally, I would be annoyed. Truth be told, I was still a little annoyed. But Joker wisely waited until he was several metres away before embracing his self-appointed role as bait. This drew attention away from me and towards him, allowing me to get the jump on the hostiles. Leaning around the table, I snapped off two headshots. The nearest hostile jerked, then collapsed to the ground. Two more shots dropped the next guy. Damn, I had to keep this baby!

However, I had more important things to worry about than drooling over new guns. "Brooks?"

"Over here."

"You all right?"

"Yeah."

"Hang on!"

I was about to fire again when I realized I was almost out of ammo. The Suppressor might be a great pistol, but apparently it didn't have a large clip size. Thankfully, the guy I lifted the pistol from had a few spare thermal clips in his pocket. I quickly grabbed them, reloaded and resumed fire.

By that point, though, the hostiles were firing back. I managed to take out one more before the return fire drove me back behind cover. "Where'd he get a gun?" I heard their leader ask out loud. "Damn it!"

Apparently, this wasn't going according to their plan. What a shame. Raising my new pistol, I downed another hostile with a double-tap to the head. Reloading, I decided it was time to go on the offensive and charged forward. Two more hostiles opened fire, but neither was able to connect. Crouching down by the bar, I saw them do the same. One of them had his head just a little too high, though, a mistake that I quickly took advantage of. The other guy moved to hide behind a pillar. Good move, as I wouldn't be able to see him from my current position. Little did he know that I was moving as well. Vaulting over the bar, I moved to a mini-cupboard in the centre of the bar. From there, I had a clear line of sight to the hostile. He didn't realize I'd flanked him until it was too late.

"Brooks, stay down! I'm coming!" I shouted.

"Staying down," she confirmed. I'm pretty sure she didn't mean for me to hear her fervently mutter "Don't shoot me, don't shoot me, don't shoot me."

Two more hostiles entered the restaurant. I managed to take out one of them before the other one took cover behind a nearby table, after almost tripping over a chair that had been knocked over. It finally sank in that the restaurant was empty. All the customers and staff had fled when the shooting started, leaving me, Brooks and a never-ending stream of hostiles.

"Commander?" Brooks called out. The hostile started, his head briefly coming into view. Not for long, mind you, but long enough. I took advantage of his mistake to drill a few holes in his helmet—and skull—before hurrying to Brooks. As I helped her to her feet, I noted that the floor was sporting a few cracks, courtesy of the gunfire that had been going on. I was going to state something obvious, like 'We need to get the hell outta here,' when the back of my neck began tingling again. At the same time, I glimpsed something just below me. My gaze drifted down…

…just in time to see a red dot dance its way across my chest.

That was when Brooks leaped forwards and pushed me out of harm's way. Landing on my back, I watched her jerk violently, a light mist of blood puffing out of her chest, before she collapsed. Twisting to my side, I saw two more hostiles jump down from above, jump jets cushioning their descent. I double-tapped one of them in the head before he could do anything.

The other one, though, opened fire. He didn't have the best aim, though, as his shots hit the glass floor around me. "Brooks," I shouted, trying to get to her. Unfortunately, the hostile fired several more shots into the floor, driving me back. It was at that point that I became mindful of my surroundings. Specifically, the fact that I was basically sitting on a glass floor whose structural integrity had been compromised by gunfire. A fact punctuated by the growing web of cracks all around me and the telltale sign of weakening glass reaching my ears.

"Aw, crap," I managed to sigh before the glass finally gave way.

* * *

Arms flailing madly, I plunged through the 'floor' of the restaurant. Spotting a giant neon sign below me, I tried to grab it. My first attempt failed—not surprising how wet my hands were and the fact that the sign was basically a series of horizontal tubes. It was only by sheer luck that I managed to get a grip on my second attempt. Kicking wildly, well aware of how precarious my situation was, I somehow got my feet planted on the bottom of the sign. Then I tried to push myself up…

*snap*

"Whoaaaaa!"

The neon tube under my feet gave way. "Ooh," I cried out as I hit the closest wall. Despite my best efforts, I couldn't get any kind of purchase, so I found myself bouncing and rolling down.

"Oh!"

"Ow!"

"Gah!"

"Eek!"

Somehow, I managed to grab a hatch or something and arrest my fall. I took a deep breath, then two, before looking up.

My heart—which had been rapidly pounding up to that point—almost stopped when I saw all the debris coming towards me. I had just enough time to mutter "Oh for crying out—" before the debris hit me with enough force to dislodge my grip.

"Ooh!"

"Eek!"

"Ow!"

"Gah!"

Eventually, I realized I had stopped falling. Apparently, I had hit rock bottom. Literally. Also, I was soaking wet. And I was surrounded by shards of glass. And I was covered with flopping fish—which reminded me that I _still _hadn't had dinner yet. I was really looking forward to some good quality sushi, too. **(4)**

Groaning, I pushed myself to my hands and knees and gritted my teeth as a jab of pain lanced through my side. Once my vision cleared, I spotted the Suppressor pistol lying nearby. I grabbed it before brushing off all the fish. Bracing myself, I slowly stood up, wincing as another jab of pain flared up from my ankle.

Once I was back on my feet, I tried to raise the Normandy. All I got was static. Maybe my omni-tool was damaged. Or maybe the hostiles set up some kind of jamming that blocked long-range transmissions. All I knew was that I couldn't contact my squad or my crew.

"_Commander!" _

That was Brooks' voice, but it seemed a bit tinny, like it was coming from a distance. It took a second to realize my omni-tool had lit up. "Go ahead," I managed.

"_I found a secure terminal!"_

Which might explain why she was able to contact me. A computer console could conceivably be connected to some kind of signal booster or communications suite, which might have enough power to punch through any jamming.

"_Are you okay down there?"_

Okay was relative, but she didn't need to know that. "Yup…" I wheezed instead. "Feeling good."

Looking around, I realized I was in some corridor or tunnel. Judging by the portable lights and computers, the only people who would normally be here were maintenance staff or engineers. By sheer luck, it was empty, which meant I hadn't inadvertently killed anyone during my descent. Unfortunately, I couldn't figure out how to get out of here. Deciding that one way was as good as another, I randomly picked a direction and began to limp.

Then I remembered something. "Brooks… you got hit."

"_I know! I used medi-gel. A lot of it. Um, all of it, actually. And now everything is a little bit _bouncy_!" _

Her words came out even faster than usual, if that was at all possible. Despite everything, I found myself shaking my head wryly. "I think you used too much." And was possibly high as a kite. **(5)**

"_So can I help with… anything?"_

"Alert C-Sec," I instructed. "I'll look for a way out."

She must have worked fast. Within moments, I heard a VI announce _"Warning: C-Sec has ordered a lockdown in this area. Temporary travel restrictions are in effect."_ I, on the other hand, wasted a couple minutes stepping around the dead fish—did I mention before how much I was looking forward to having sushi?—wandering around and hopping from platform to platform. From what I could gather, I seemed to on one of the upper levels of some building. Far below me, I could see a steady stream of skycar traffic. Across a seemingly vast gulf, I saw a similarly sized building. A crew of salarian workers were industriously doing some maintenance, some of whom saw my antics and suggested I exercise more caution.

Eventually I found a ladder that took me to a platform on a lower level. It was also under repair, as an automated drone helpfully told me, which explained why the only things I could find were a light fixture, an empty crate and a datapad holding an e-mail from a CitadelAir supervisor. Nothing that would really help me.

And right at that moment, I definitely needed help. I was alone, up against who knows how many hostiles with nothing more than a gun, a personal shield generator and my wits. To make matters worse, the pain in my side and my ankle suggested I'd hurt myself during my unconventional exit from Ryuusei. **(6)** I continued to look around, hoping I could see something that would help me out of my current predicament.

Sure enough, I found that something, though it took a moment before I realized what I was looking at. "Brooks," I said over the comm, "I see some skycars across the gap. They're parked underneath a Cision Motors logo."

"_I'm checking the area. Yes, there's a skycar lot registered to Cision Motors."_

Reasonably central location with a ready-made area for pickup. Worked for me. "Get a shuttle over there," I ordered. "I'll find a way across."

"_Okay, right. Only…"_

"Yes?"

"_So, um, it turns out C-Sec has the whole area locked down."_

Right on cue, the helpful VI announced _"Warning: lockdown is in effect. Please stay in your homes."_

"I think I got that," I said dryly as I found another ladder and began my descent.

"_Well, you see, it's gonna be a tiny bit tricky to get you a shuttle."_

"Keep at it, Brooks."

"_Oh, also, stay off your comm. Well, except for me. I'm on an encrypted channel. The other comm frequencies are hacked. That's probably how they found you."_

That, or they'd set this whole thing up with the intent to capture or kill me. Unfortunately for them, I'd proved to be a bit more troublesome than they anticipated. "Who are these guys?"

"_I don't know. But they really don't seem to like you."_

"Yeah," I laughed. "I'm sensing that."

At that point, I had run out of platforms to hop to or ladders to climb down. I had, however, found an open access point into some kind of cold storage area. One holding frozen fish and crates of… 'authentic European sushi.' Son of a bitch.

There was also a salarian on a smoking break. "Hey," he said, unfazed by the sight of a man with a gun.

"Hey," I said nonchalantly. "So I'm kinda lost. What's the fastest way out of here?"

He wordlessly pointed to a nearby ladder that, as it turned out, led up to the roof. At first, I was a bit confused. Then I looked over the side and saw the crowd below. It seemed the C-Sec lockdown had trapped a bunch of civvies in this block. Judging by the snippets of conversation I overheard, they wouldn't be leaving anytime soon. Which meant hopping over the rooftops, as extreme as it sounded, truly was the fastest way out of here.

It wasn't long before I ran out of buildings. My only path forward was to climb down yet another handy ladder and pass through an open-air market. I was just about to do so when I spotted some movement. And the back of my neck started to tingle. Instinctively, I crouched down.

My paranoia paid off, as four hostiles came into view. "The advance team screwed it up," I heard one of them say.

"No kidding," another snorted. "Shepard was unarmed, and they still couldn't take him out. Man, those guys are idiots."

Maybe, but these guys weren't much better. None of them was looking up, which meant I had the element of surprise—and elevation—on my side. A quick scan told me that there were two hostiles on my left and two on the right. Choosing to start with the former, I targeted the rearmost member of the pair and opened fire. A pair of shots to the head took him out. The leader was unaware of his partner's fate until I put two rounds in his noggin.

Unfortunately, the other pair was a bit more alert. "What the hell?" one of them cried out.

"He's here!" said the other, before I put two bullets in his head.

The last hostile began firing wildly. I quickly dove to the ground—roof, whatever—and reloaded.

"_Shepard! Can you hear me? Are you all right?"_

It was Miranda! I must've gotten out of whatever jamming field was set up. Thank God! "I'm fine. For now."

"_I hear gunshots."_

"Wouldn't say no to a little backup," I admitted.

"_No doubt. Joker explained what happened. I'm on foot, but I'm not far." _

"_Excuse me," _Brooks cut in, _"who is this? You're on an unsecured channel and you're putting Commander Shepard in danger!"_

"_And you are?" _Miranda asked in return, her voice suggesting more than a little irritation at some random stranger telling her what to do.

"Hang on," I interjected. "Joker mentioned Staff Analyst Brooks, right? That's her. Brooks, Miranda's on our side. Everyone play nice."

Meanwhile, that last hostile was doing a good job of keeping his head down. Time to get his attention. Shifting my aim, I fired at a neon sign down below, which obligingly exploded in a flash of sparks. The hostile started, briefly raising his head into my line of sight. That was the last mistake he ever made.

Verifying that the coast was clear, I went down the ladder and patted down the bodies. It wasn't long before my pockets were stuffed with thermal clips. I briefly entertained the notion of taking some of their rifles, but I decided that stealth and mobility were more important than firepower. Besides, this pistol was doing an outstanding job of keeping me alive.

Seeing that there wasn't anything else of note—aside from a datapad from an EZ Meat employee telling a would-be customer that they didn't have anything tasting like krogan, they definitely didn't serve barbequed asari, and that orders should be restricted to the official catalog—I began making my way through the market.

I was about halfway through when I heard someone shout out: "Hatchet Team is down! Shepard's headed this way!"

Thank you for ignoring comm discipline, I thought as I crouched down behind the inevitable stack of crates. It wasn't long before the first hostile came into view. Raising my pistol, I fired two shots through his head.

"What the hell's going on?"

"He's here! Get into position."

Hmm. Maybe I should've waited. Too late. Peering around the crates, I saw another hostile and a drone. The former opened fire while the latter lazily drifted towards me. My best guess? The drone could only strike at close range. The shooter was undoubtedly hoping to pin me down while the drone got close enough to zap me or do something similarly unpleasant. Which meant the shooter was my immediate threat. Popping up, I returned fire. Unlike the shooter, I took the time to line up my shots, which was why he was the one who soon collapsed.

By that point, the drone was within arm's reach. It hovered there, some internal mechanism sparking to life and glowing with an increasingly bright light. Deciding that there was no point in waiting for the drone to do its thing, I blew it to smithereens with one well-placed shot.

As the drone went boom, it occurred to me that that was the first drone I'd seen so far. Either my newfound 'fans' had a limited supply, or I'd been taking them out before they had a chance to deploy them.

I was just about to move out when I spotted some movement. Another hostile was heading my way, possibly to investigate why the drone went dark or why he couldn't see his buddies. Big mistake. Once I finished him off, I went around the corner and down to the end of the stall. Generally not a good idea to stay in one place. Plus, I wanted to see if I could acquire any more targets. Sure enough, I spotted another hostile, slowly sweeping the market. I waited until she was facing away before taking her out.

After checking that the market was free of hostiles, I bent down and took a picture. No, it wasn't for bragging rights. Given that the hostiles were all sporting the same colours, it was safe to assume they were all part of the same outfit. If I could ID them, then I'd be one step closer to figuring out why they were so eager to get their hands on me.

Just as I was reloading, the omni-tool crackled to life. _"Garrus here. Heard you were in trouble." _

"You could say that."

"_Miranda's already en route. Meanwhile, I'm rounding up the squad. We'll be heading over soon."_

"Good to hear. Things are a little dicey."

"_Wouldn't have it any other way."_

Easy for him to say, I thought ruefully. He wasn't the one being shot at. If only I could find some more ammo.

For once, the galaxy was on my side. No sooner had I thought that than I reached the end of the market. On the other side was a gun shop marked Ryuisi. Pausing briefly, I looked around before stepping inside. Most of the merchandise was locked, but I was able to acquire a pistol mod. Oh, and I managed to access the cash terminal and extract a few thousand credits. 'Cuz I gotta be me.

I went down the alley and emerged in a new area, most of which was blocked off. Through one of the doors, I could see a bridge leading to the other side. As I searched around for anything of note, most of which involved a datapad of credits in the local 'Value Added' store, Brooks chose that moment to contact me. _"Commander? Where are you?"_

"Near the rendezvous point," I replied. "I found a way across, but it's locked down."

_"Right. Because of the, uh, lockdown. Can you get through?"_

"I'll try to override it."

Looking around to make sure the coast was clear, I began to bypass the door's encryption. Well, I attempted to bypass: nothing I tried seem to work. A surprising development, considering the number of times I'd bypassed or hacked doors, safes and various gadgets during my disreputable career. But, no, every attempt I made yielded an automated voice that told me _"C-Sec authorization required."_

Just as I was about to try again, I heard something hit the ground with a metallic clang. Spinning around, I saw another hostile. Seeing that she'd been made, she tried to raise her rifle, but I was too fast for her.

Once I'd taken care of her, I decided enough was enough. Short of back-tracking my steps, the bridge was the only way to the skycar lot, which meant I _had _to get through the door. So I went to my last resort option: using my rarely-used Spectre authorization codes to override the lock. **(7)**

_"Confirming Spectre authorization override."_

_"Spectre access accepted."_

The door obligingly unlocked and sank into the floor. I took a step forward...

...and groaned as an alarm went off. Don't know what happened, but now every idiot who might have been gunning for me would be alerted to my presence. Sure enough, I heard someone cry out "You heard the alarm! Shepard's around here somewhere!"

"Damn it!" I cursed. I ducked down and began looking for hostiles.

_"Commander?" _Brooks said over the comm.

Before she could say anything, Miranda cut in. _"Shepard? What's going on? I can hear alarms all the way from here."_

"Tried to bypass a lock," I replied.

"'_Tried' being the operative word, I take it."_

Garrus picked that moment to tap into our conversation. _"Is that some kind of alarm? What's going on?"_

"Thought I'd make things more interesting," I cracked.

_"Of course you did," _he sighed.

"Seriously, I must've tripped an alarm bypassing a door. I've got hostiles inbound."

"Shepard's over there! Open fire!" someone shouted.

A burst of gunfire hit a nearby display panel. I leaned out and snapped off two shots, downing the closest shooter. "Did you two hear that?" I asked.

_"I've got some of the team together," _Garrus replied, _"but the lockdown's affected all traffic in and out of your area, Shepard. I'm trying to find a workaround, but it might take a while."_

"_Brooks sent me the NavPoint for the skycar lot," _Miranda said. _"I'll be there soon."_

"Good."

_"What do we know about the attackers?" _Miranda asked.

"They have guns and don't like me," I quipped.

I didn't need to see Miranda to know she was rolling her eyes. _"Very helpful. Thank you so much."_

"Seriously, they're all wearing military-style hardsuits. Urban camo pattern of grey, with a bit of dark blue and black. Turquoise green highlights." I fired two shots at another hostile, then another two shots at a drone that was a little too close for comfort. "Unless I really pissed off some nation's government—again—my guess is that they're from some merc outfit." **(8)**

"_Got it."_

"_Commander," _Brooks huffed, _"it would really be great if you could stay off the comms." _

"Hey," I said indignantly, "_they_ called _me_!"

No one else was in the mood to chat, so I was free to set another hostile on fire. That gave me time to reload before taking out another two hostiles. Unfortunately, there was another hostile hot on their heels—one I couldn't target because a sniper was trying to pin me down. And the movement I spotted up ahead suggested yet another hostile was inbound. Time to change the equation, I decided.

Activating my cloak, I snuck up behind the closest hostile and put a bullet in his head at point-blank range. Before the cloak disengaged, I turned and took out the sniper. Then, for good measure, I finished off the last hostile. I hurriedly reloaded again and prepared for the next wave… only they never came. I seemed to have cleared the area of threats… unless you count the mannequins in a nearby clothing store as hostile. In any event, I seemed to have a bit of breathing room. I used the time to hunt around for fresh thermal clips… and maybe a bit of loot.

I was in the midst of finding the latter, along with a weapon mod, when I heard someone bitching away. "I can't believe Shepard got past the walkway!"

"Quiet!"

Too late. I poked my head out of the store I was perusing and looked around. It didn't take long before I spotted some more hostiles outside the clothing store.

Unfortunately, they spotted me first. "Fire in the hole!" one of them shouted.

I killed that hostile, but not before he tossed a grenade. Raising my pistol again, I fired two more shots—somehow downing another hostile—before hastily moving to another spot of cover that wasn't about to be blown up.

"Drone away!"

"Active!"

Moving fast, I fired a double-burst at the closest hostile, then another at the freshly deployed drone. Ducking back down, I moved to the other side and emptied the rest of my clip at another hostile. Then I cloaked again and moved to a nearby information panel, reloading on the run. Up ahead, I saw three more hostiles heading my way. This time, I managed to activate my cloak and let them pass me before I opened up on them.

Just as the last hostile collapsed, Brooks contacted me again. _"Commander! There's a C-Sec shuttle inbound if you can get to the skycar lot!"_

"_Understood."_

"_Okay! Brooks over! No, out. Uh, Brooks out. O-over and out? Brooks! Oh, damn it!" _

While Brooks fumbled with the proper way to close a conversation, I confirmed that all the hostiles were down, re-stocked on ammunition and swiped a few thousand credits. I was about to check out another cash register when I heard a lot of shouting, followed by several gunshots. It sounded like the firefight was coming from… the entrance to Cision Motors! Well, at least I was in the right place.

As soon as I reloaded my pistol, I moved to investigate.

* * *

I opened the door and saw the backs of two hostiles, sparks flying from the remnants of their shields. More importantly, I saw Miranda raise her arm and fire off a burst of plasma from her omni-tool. Realizing what would happen next, I hastily dove for cover. Sure enough, the plasma reacted with the ionization of her EMP and exploded. Both of the hostiles went flying through the air and slammed into the wall. Before either could recover, she raised her submachine gun and opened fire at point-blank range.

Threats neutralized with her usual efficiency, she turned to face me. "Having a bad day, Shepard?"

"You could say that," I acknowledged. "Things are looking up, though, now that you're here."

Miranda favoured me with a slight smile before getting down to business. "The landing pad is over there," she said, motioning over her shoulder, "but it's behind a locked gate."

"Let's look for a control panel," I suggested, before starting through a vast room filled with skycars of various makes, models and prices.

At first, I assumed Miranda was letting me take the lead. It wasn't until I looked back to make sure she was still following that I realized she was… watching me intently. Maybe she was seeing if I was all right. I mean, I had just been discharged, after spending a long time in recovery and rehabilitation, only to wind up fighting for my life. She was probably worried about my health and wellbeing.

"I like your outfit."

Or not. **(9)** I glanced at my attire. Grey cotton short-sleeved shirt. A pair of jeans. Black leather jacket with red piping and a N7 logo—a get-well gift from Ellie. Then it hit me: judging from the angle of her gaze, Miranda was probably checking out my ass.

Should I feel flattered? Objectified? Both? Did I really have any right to complain, considering all the times I checked out _her _ass? "I'm glad you approve," I finally said. "Shall we find that control panel?"

"Of course."

We'd scarcely taken a few steps when Miranda spoke up again. "I understand you fell through the floor at Ryuusei."

"Sure did," I confirmed. "Right through the fish tank."

"Shame. It's—it _was _my favourite sushi restaurant."

"At least you ate there before," I grumbled.

"More than once, in fact. The last time was when I was searching for Oriana, before I was reunited with you. Even with the onset of the Reaper War, Ryuusei still had genuine wild sockeye salmon sashimi. Quite impressive, I thought."

"Can we talk about this later?" I asked, somehow suppressing my irritation and hunger.

"Oh, very well."

After passing several more skycars—thankfully without any more chit-chat about clothes, places to eat or other random topics of conversation—we found the Cision Motors office. Naturally, it was locked. "Do you see a control panel I could hack?" I asked, silently hoping I'd have more success than the last one.

"That might not be necessary. One moment." Miranda walked to the gate and rapped her knuckles on the glass. "Hello? Could you please open the gate?"

An audible beep came through the glass, followed by a hissing noise behind us. Turning around, we saw several triangular gates retract into the floor, opening the way to the landing pad. "Thank you," Miranda said.

"_*hiss*_ Please leave," the volus employee whimpered in fear. I couldn't really blame him. If I were in his shoes, I'd probably feel the same way.

With the path now open, we quickly made our way to the extraction zone. Neither of us was in a mood to dawdle, given that we still didn't know how many hostiles were left or their present whereabouts. It was for that reason that I kept alert, constantly scanning for any signs of movement.

It seemed like it took an eternity, but only a few moments passed before the C-Sec skycar Brooks had promised showed up. Curiously, it came to a hovering stop several metres above the ground, which would make it difficult to enable any sort of extraction. To make matters worse, I felt that tingling sensation along the back of my neck again. "Call me crazy," I murmured to Miranda, "but I have a bad feeling about this."

Before Miranda could reply, the C-Sec shuttle popped its hatch, revealing…

…

…five hostiles, dressed in that same urban camouflage pattern, all of them pointing weapons at the two of us.

My eyes widened. "Aw, crap."

I dove at Miranda, pushing both of us behind a billboard before they opened up. We were safe, for the time being. But there was no denying the fact that we were in serious trouble. The hostiles had the advantage of numbers, height and sheer firepower—all of which they were using to keep us pinned down. Even my cloak wouldn't help, as the volume of bullets being sprayed around guaranteed that I'd be shredded the moment I stepped out of cover. We needed a miracle. Now.

And then the galaxy, in its capricious mercy, gave me that miracle. Miranda and I suddenly jerked our heads up as a window shattered. "Look," I cried out. "Up in the sky! It's a bird! It's a plane!"

Miranda looked at me in confusion. "It's Wrex." **(10)**

Wrex majestically descended from the sky, hands on hips, with a cape flapping in the breeze. He touched down on the pavement. Then he gave the hostiles a stern gaze before delivering a lecture on their moral failings, how they could do better and extolling the virtues of truth and justice.

Okay, he actually dropped straight down from the window, howling as he fell. He didn't touch down as much as he belly-flopped on the shuttle with enough force to overload its thrusters, causing the whole thing to crash with a tooth-rattling thud. And there was absolutely no lecturing to be had. Instead, he put his head down and charged. The first hostile unfortunate enough to cross his path was literally trampled beneath his feet. The next was rammed into the other side of the shuttle, the impact hard enough to crack the reinforced-glass window. Reaching out, he grabbed the third and gave him a vicious head-butt. The fourth was pummelled into submission with a couple punches. The last tried to run—emphasis on 'tried'. Wrex grabbed him with one hand while opening the other shuttle hatch with the other. Poor guy had just enough time to cry before he was bodily thrown from the shuttle.

Most of the hostiles were down by that point, but one tried to get up. Wrex unceremoniously kicked him over the edge. He peered out the shuttle, nodded in satisfaction, then turned back.

"Wrex?" I said incredulously. "What're you doing here?"

"Ah, just butting heads with the Council over krogan expansion," he said dismissively. He looked dismissively at the pistol in my hand, knelt down and began searching the bodies of the various hostiles he'd blown through like a force of nature. Within seconds, he was tossing a heavy weapon in my direction. I managed to stuff the pistol into my pants—after making sure the safety was on—and caught the weapon. Looked like a modified version of the geth Spitfire mini-gun I found on Rannoch. If so, it would definitely do some damage.

That was when a rapid series of beeps filled the air, followed by a thunderous explosion. Wrex, Miranda and I quickly found cover as a dozen hostiles stormed the landing pad. "Shepard," Wrex asked, "we got a way out of here?"

"Wrex, I'm a professional," I retorted, lifting the Spitfire and squeezing the trigger. My first round of bullets scythed through the lead hostile, almost cutting him in half.

"That's not a yes," Wrex pointed out, his shotgun taking out another hostile.

"It's not a no," I replied as Miranda hammered a third hostile with her biotics.

"_Commander?"_

"Joker! We lost our ride!" Motioning to Wrex and Miranda, I got them to flank the hostiles from the right, while I completed the pincer manoeuvre from the left. "Where are you?"

"_On my way. Picked up Brooks. Figured you'd have a few questions."_

"Good call." I paused to make sure Wrex was out of the line of fire before mowing down a pair of hostiles. While I preferred the clean precision of a sniper rifle, I couldn't deny the thrill of operating a rapid-fire weapon like the Spitfire. Maybe I needed to get out more.

Seeing that Wrex had the hostiles' full attention, I focused my efforts on draining as many shields as possible, thus making it easier for him to finish them off. Miranda had the same idea, judging by her judicious use of EMPs, plasma and bullets. For his part, Wrex was more than happy to channel any frustrations he had over bureaucracy and TPTB into crude insults and shotgun blasts.

One of the hostiles had enough of the frontal approach, choosing to sneak up behind Wrex to get the drop on him. I was moving to intercept when Brooks got on the comm. _"Commander, did C-Sec find you? Are you okay?"_

I finished off the would-be ambusher before replying. "Yes and no. Hostiles tried to ambush us using a C-Sec shuttle."

"_What?"_

"Little busy right now," I shouted over the whine of the Spitfire as it cut down another hostile.

"_Right. Sorry. We'll be there soon."_

Yet another hostile leapt down from the floor above, using his boot thrusters to cushion his descent. Little did he know that he was landing right in front of me. A flurry of bullets from yours truly ripped him to shreds. Checking the ammo counter, I was astounded to see I had over 950 rounds left. Looking around, I took out a hostile that was trying to get the drop on Miranda, then unleashed a stream of bullets on a nearby trio.

"_Almost there, Commander. Hang on."_

Another hostile touched down, this time too close for me to effectively use my Spitfire. So I popped out an omni-blade and thrust downwards, cutting through his spine and heart with a single blow, before heading over to see how Wrex was doing.

"Great place to fight in!" Wrex grinned when he saw me. Lots to destroy."

Call me crazy, but I think he was having a good time. Even when I 'stole' his kills.

"_Approaching your position, Commander. Just following the gunfire."_

And the explosion, I noted as a skycar blew up, taking out several more hostiles.

"Copy."

"_Sorry we're late," _Joker apologized as I opened fire again. _"Had to take the scenic route."_

"_Scenic route?" _Brooks protested. _"We nearly crashed four times! Where the hell did you learn to drive?"_

"_And Brooks says hi," _Joker cheerfully added.

I would've said something, but I was busy switching back and forth between my omni-blade and my Spitfire. For some reason, several hostiles were trying to join the party by hopping down and landing _in the exact same spot. _All I had to do was stand there and hack them down, occasionally firing my Spitfire while waiting for the next one to obligingly touch down next to me.

I still had almost 900 rounds left when Joker contacted me. _"We're here, Commander. Get to the landing pad."_

Glancing over, I saw another shuttle coming in for a landing near the C-Sec shuttle that the hostiles had commandeered. "Miranda, Wrex; pickup's here. Head to the shuttle. I'll cover you."

Miranda promptly obeyed my orders. Wrex followed, but not before head-butting a hostile for good measure. I laid down cover fire, mowing down more than a few bad guys, before running for the landing pad.

By that point, the hostiles had figured out that the newly arrived shuttle didn't belong to them. Bullets began ricocheting off the hull as they tried to shoot it down. Somehow, Miranda and Wrex made it aboard without being shot in the back. Somehow, that same luck extended to yours truly.

As the shuttle hatch began to close, two hostiles sprinted our way. Crouching down, I put the Spitfire down—unlike the vids, dropping a live heavy weapon at your feet in real life is generally a bad idea—pulled out my pistol and double-tapped each of them in the head.

And that was it. The shuttle hatch sealed shut, Joker transferred power to the engines and we flew away to safety.

* * *

If the hostiles could lure me to a restaurant and try to ambush me, it was a fair bet that they had the Normandy under surveillance as well. From what I saw, they definitely had the manpower to spare. So I directed Joker to fly a randomized course that would hopefully shake off any pursuers before setting an equally indirect route to Anderson's apartment. At the moment, it was the best hidey-hole I had at hand.

We had someone waiting for us when we arrived. Thankfully, she didn't want to shoot me. "Shepard," she greeted me.

"Liara."

"I'm relieved to see you're in one piece."

"Likewise."

"A shame about that sushi place, though. It was a favourite."

"So I keep hearing," I said, quelling my momentary irritation—and hunger. "Perhaps we could talk about that later. Now, then: report."

"I've been monitoring the area for the last hour. No individuals or groups of individuals matching your description."

That would have to do for now. "All right. Follow me." The group followed me into the building and up to the apartment.

"Someone want to tell me what's going on here?" Wrex asked when we finally arrived.

"I would also like to know who was attacking you, Shepard," Miranda said. "They were heavily armed and were using C-Sec shuttles. That suggests a great deal of resources, coordination and organization."

"Agreed," I nodded. "But I've never seen them before."

"I can't believe you survived all that," Brooks suddenly interrupted. "They had guns! And grenades! And those drone things!"

"It's all right," I said soothingly. "The important thing is we made it out alive and in one piece. Now it's time to get some answers."

"What are you doing?" Brooks asked as I activated my omni-tool.

"I know some people in C-Sec. Figure they can help us figure out what's going on."

"Okay, that sounds—wait. Wouldn't that just make whoever you contact a target too?"

"She might have a point there," Joker said.

"Only if Shepard makes a call on an open channel," Miranda argued.

"Even the best encryption might not matter if they hacked into his omni-tool," Brooks rebutted.

I considered the men and women before me, weighed their arguments, and came to a decision. "C-Sec will want to know why these hostiles shot up Ryuusei, not to mention the surrounding neighbourhoods. Coordinating with them could help us determine who these guys are and why they're so interested in me. That being said, I don't want our investigation slowed down by bureaucratic inertia. So, for the time being, we'll leave C-Sec alone."

"Right," Brooks nodded energetically. "We'll run this ourselves. On our own. Outside the law. Okay. Yeah!"

Her outburst sounded more like what you'd expect from a civvie. Which could make sense if she spent her time crunching numbers as an analyst rather than fighting as a soldier. "How're you doing, Brooks? I know this is a lot to deal with."

"How am I doing? I got _shot_, that's how I'm doing! I've got medi-gel—or I did before I used it up—but still! I took a desk job _explicitly _to not get shot! But I did! So did you—not that that stopped you. I mean, you must've killed a hundred guys! With a _pistol_!"

"Well, yeah, that did happen. Don't know about the 'hundred' part, but I made it out okay."

"Fine. A thousand guys, then," she said. "I mean, who does that? Well, you, I guess. But besides you? Who would believe it? Or maybe it's the medi-gel. All the studies say it's safe, but I did read an article on the extranet on how medi-gel might make me jumpy. I thought it was a whole bunch of nonsense, but now… do I seem jumpy?"

Miranda and Wrex looked at each other and shrugged.

"How did you get mixed up in this?" I wondered, sidestepping her question and the obvious answer. "We never got that straightened out before the shooting started."

"I monitor data for Alliance Security to prevent fraud and hacking of officer IDs. Usually white-collar stuff. Like, uh, someone using an admiral's pass to get into a nightclub on the Citadel when that admiral's fighting on Tuchanka."

"Like that would ever happen," Wrex snorted.

"Okay, bad example," Brooks conceded, "but you get the idea. Anyway, I wrote a tracking program. It's really neat. I named it 'Mr. Biscuits.' After my cat. I got him as a rescue from the local animal shelter. Cutest thing—"

"Brooks," I gently chided.

"Right, sorry. Anyway, Mr. Bis… um… my program detected a breach in your classified files."

Somehow, I had the feeling that breach was a little more serious than revealing how I let my inner snark out in my personal logs.

"Soon, everything we had on you was compromised: personnel files, mission reports, everything."

"Since when does hacking personnel records involve heavy weapon fire?" Joker demanded.

"It does seem excessive, but it's not entirely unexpected," Miranda mused. "Think of what criminals could do if they had Shepard's military access codes. Or Spectre codes, even."

"They could only do that if Shepard was out of the way," Wrex added. "Which explains why they need you dead, Shepard. Once you're gone, they could cause all sorts of shit. No one could stop them until the damage is done.

"All right," I said. "Let's say this is an unusually aggressive form of identity theft. That could explain why they were so intent on taking me out. We still need to figure out who they are, though, and shut them down. Any ideas?"

"Maybe," Miranda said. "That pistol you picked up."

"For such a tiny thing, it packs a punch," Wrex nodded in admiration. "Couldn't believe it took out those last two guys so easily. Never seen anything like it before."

"Let me see it," Liara said, speaking up for the first time. "I might be able to help. Glyph?"

Glyph sprang to life beside her. "I'll begin collating relevant intel for review, Dr. T'Soni," it said with its usual cheerfulness.

"I can already tell you the make and model," I said. "M-11 Suppressor, designed by the Alliance's Offensive Handgun Project as a silenced weapon for close-quarters infiltration and covert scenarios. Officially it's a military special operations weapon. But I've heard rumours that some illegal civilian variants may be in circulation in some sectors." **(11)**

"Adding 'M-11 Suppressor' and 'Alliance' to search parameters, Commander," Glyph acknowledged.

"All right," Wrex said, "Liara's on point. What about the rest of the crew?"

"Yeah, what about those slackers?" Joker grinned. "Thought they would've showed up ages ago."

"I'm sure they'll be here soon," I said. "Nice job getting the word out, by the way."

"No problem, Shepard. Turns out some folks actually _like _being shot at."

Right on cue, the doors opened. Garrus entered the apartment, followed by EDI, Javik and the rest of my squad. "Permission to come aboard, Shepard?" Garrus requested.

A smile swept across my face. "Permission granted," I said.

* * *

_(1): A human idiom meaning to dress very nicely, extravagantly, elegantly or to the highest degree. _

_(2): Shepard is referring to a fascinating, yet highly disturbing, encounter with the Leviathans, an ancient race that created the Reapers. His account can be found in other log entries and need not concern us at this time._

_(3): A rather prescient concern, given what eventually happened._

_(4): I would comment about his priorities, but readers are already well aware of his kleptomania._

_(5): While the composition of medi-gel does include painkillers, the primary ingredients of medi-gel are anaesthetic and a clotting agent. An individual overdosing on medi-gel would be far more likely to experience symptoms such as dizziness or vomiting before euphoria or the other side-effects described by Shepard. _

_(6): Subsequent medical treatment revealed internal bruising and a twisted ankle, injuries that—as Shepard correctly deduced—had been caused by his fall. The latter injury must have been relatively minor, considering Shepard's ability to jump around. _

_(7): In actual fact, this might be the first time Shepard used his Spectre authorization codes._

_(8): Despite this educated guess, which ultimately proved correct, Shepard persisted on referring to them as 'hostiles.' This generic term was likely intended to avoid being trapped in any premature conclusions._

_(9): Miranda later informed me that she was assessing Shepard's physical state _and _admiring his rear end simultaneously, a feat __of multi-tasking common amongst those of the female persuasion. _

_(10): A quote attributed to the human fictional superhero Superman, originally stemming from the live-action vid-series 'The Adventures of Superman' that aired in the 1950s. Despite Miranda's astonishing breadth of knowledge on a wide variety of subjects, Shepard still had her beat when it came to popular culture references. _

_(11): Shepard first used the M-11 Suppressor on a covert Alliance Intelligence operation, during his court martial for his role in the destruction__ of the Alpha Relay and the Bahak system. _


	3. Dressed to Kill

**A Hero by Any Other Name**

**Chapter 3: Dressed to Kill**

Liara, Glyph and Brooks retreated to the back of the apartment. There they began sifting through all available data to determine who was trying so hard to rob me of a long-overdue sushi meal—and, in the process, my life. The others spread out—ostensibly to secure Anderson's apartment against further hostilities—though I had no doubt that they wanted to explore it for themselves. Finding myself with nothing to do, I decided to wander around and chat. It wasn't quite the same as roaming the decks of the Normandy and harassing them, but it was the next best thing.

Joker happened to be closest, so he wound up being first. "How're you doing, Joker?"

"Fine. But later, when this is over and everything's settled, we are gonna talk about this bait thing."

"Is that before or after we talk about accepted tactics for escaping and evading the enemy?" I asked.

"Okay. You got a point there" Joker conceded.

With that out of the way, I went over to see Miranda, who was a couple metres away by the fireplace. "Thanks for pulling my ass out of the fire."

"I do have a vested interest in keeping your ass intact."

Be still my beating heart.

"You're welcome."

"Better."

"So this is Anderson's apartment? Very nice. Quite appropriate for a former Citadel Councillor and Systems Alliance admiral. The location is a welcome surprise as well—one wouldn't normally consider such a place in the Wards. Perhaps you should considering finding a similar place for yourself?"

"You think?" I asked.

"All the time."

I did hand her that opening on a silver platter. All things considered, I guess I got off lucky.

"Granted, this area isn't one I'd normally associate you with. But you can't spend all your time on the Normandy, especially when you're docked at the Citadel. Upon further review, I could see you fitting in very well."

"I'll have to find myself a real estate agent," I said. "After we get through this latest crisis."

"Yes. Quite."

Miranda was never one to waste words, but that was a little more vague and absent-minded than usual. "Everything okay?"

"Probably."

"Not the resounding affirmative I was looking for."

"Just trying to solve a mystery."

"That mystery being..."

"Brooks."

"What about her?"

"I swear I've met her before."

"Really? Where? From your time on the Citadel? During the war?"

"I don't know. Certain physical aspects of her face, the way she moves... it all seems familiar, somehow. I don't know where, but I can't shake the feeling that I've met her before—and _not _as Maya Brooks." **(1) **

"Hence why you're not over there with Liara, Glyph and Brooks, sifting through digital breadcrumbs."

"Exactly."

Great. Maybe it was nothing, but I already had one mystery on my hands. I really didn't need another. I looked over my shoulder and nodded. "I'll admit there are a few aspects of this whole situation that are awfully… convenient."

"So you see my concern."

"Yeah. I'm really hoping it's nothing. Still, if you ever figure out—"

"You'll be the first to know."

"Thanks."

"You're welcome."

Leaving Miranda to her musings, I went over to Tali. She was standing by the window, enjoying the view through the enormous windows... or so I thought.

"Back during my Pilgrimage, I used to walk around near that sushi place and watch the fish through the window," she told me. "I knew they'd never let me inside, but I'd think to myself 'Someday, when I've proven my worth to the galaxy, I'll go there for dinner."

She said it so dramatically, puffing out her chest and making the kinds of gestures you'd see in a theatrical performance.

"And then," she said with the same tone of voice, "you broke their floor."

"Those hostiles broke the floor while shooting at me," I shot back. "I'm fine, by the way."

"Not the point, Shepard. I'm glad you're safe. Just… try not to destroy any more of my childhood memories."

"Uh huh."

Kaidan was standing a few metres away with a smile on his face. "Tali giving you a hard time?" he asked sympathetically.

"Just having fun at my expense," I replied. "I think. You?"

"Enjoying the view. The Normandy's nice, but for unwinding after a mission? You can't get better than this."

"Anderson does have a sweet apartment," I agreed.

"Mm, hmm. Makes you think: any chance we can make a few suggestions for the Normandy's retrofit? Like, say, a hot tub for the observation lounge?"

"Oh, sure," I snorted. "Once this is all over, I'll get right on it. Claim it's for crew morale or something."

"That's the spirit, Shepard!"

Shaking my head, I went to see EDI. Surely she would treat this more seriously.

"The restaurant attack has made the news," she told me. "You may be relieved to know that civilian casualties were restricted to… fish."

I waited for the disclaimer that she was telling a joke. And waited. And waited some more. It was entirely possible that she had a ways to go before she mastered the concept of humour. Or she was genuinely having fun at my expense. Rather than ponder that mystery and figure out which option was less depressing, I opted to leave.

James was leaning against the kitchen counter, where he kept sneaking peeks at Brooks. If he kept that up, he might give himself whiplash. "Everything all right?" I asked.

"Just thinking," he shrugged. "Nothing beats having a krogan bodyguard. Had a buddy like that once."

Not sure I could afford Wrex's rates as a bodyguard, but I didn't say that. "Yeah?"

"Ah… no, not so much a buddy, really. More of a prisoner who helped us. It's a long story, man. Anyway… Brooks. She's kinda cute. Think she's on the market?"

Now it all made sense. "Maybe. What happened to you and Dr. Bryson?"

"Not sure. Kinda lost touch after the Reaper War ended. It's not like we were exclusive or anything, but…" James trailed off and shrugged.

"That's too bad," I said. "Sorry to hear that."

"Yeah, well, it happens."

"As for Brooks, I have no idea if she's available. Just keep in mind: she seems to babble. A lot."

"Noted."

I left him to ponder that while I continued my 'rounds'. To my surprise, I found Steve sitting in the small living room near the back. "Fancy seeing you here," I said.

"James and I were lining up to get into one of the clubs when Garrus got in touch," he explained. "I'm glad you made it out of that ambush okay. None of us saw that coming."

"Tell me about it," I said ruefully.

"But lesson learned: never have dinner with Joker. It won't end well."

After exchanging laughs, I headed up to the second floor. Garrus was in the miniature art gallery, leaning against the rail. He shook his head when he saw me. "So what was it, Shepard? Five minutes before someone started shooting at you?"

"Something like that," I admitted. "And I didn't even get a chance to order a drink."

"Or sushi. You know, there are a few turian chefs who were starting to try making a dextro-compatible version of sushi. Might've been the next big culinary thing on Palaven if the Reapers hadn't invaded."

"You're really not helping, Garrus."

"All right, all right. Change of topic: so on the one hand, someone's trying to kill you—again. On the other hand, we get this cool secret hideout to hang out in... unless the bad guys look in the window."

"Somehow, when Anderson bought this place, I don't think he had a safe house in mind."

"Well, nobody's perfect."

"You do know I could throw you out, right?"

"With your life on the line? Nah, you wouldn't dare."

I narrowed my eyes, but I had to admit he had a point. Damn it.

Wrex was on the second floor too, relaxing in the smaller seating area behind the gallery. "Bet you never saw a shuttle get taken down like that before," he boasted.

"I honestly can say that was a first," I admitted. "Congratulations, Wrex."

"Heh. I still got it."

"That you do."

"Though I thought we were done with shooting up the Citadel," he added. "You know, after Cerberus messed the place up."

"Heard about that, huh?"

"Sure did. Though these guys clearly didn't get the memo. They must want you really _bad_, Shepard. Price of fame, I guess."

With that in mind, I walked over to Javik, who was intently studying one of the bookcases. "Commander, in my cycle, when we fled combat by falling through tanks containing aquatic animals, we usually…"

He paused and gave me a wicked grin. "Oh. Right. We never did." He let out a hearty laugh. "You are a trailblazer!"

Et tu, Javik? **(2) **

Resigned to the fact that the squad would be ribbing me about this incident for quite some time, I returned to the ground floor. **(3)** Eventually, I found myself next to Liara, Glyph and Brooks.

It was Brooks who saw me first. "I'm going to have to write a report about getting shot," she fretted. "I hear those are really complicated."

"It's faster if you make a template," I advised.

That earned me a raised eyebrow. "I think maybe you get shot too much."

"I… think you're right," I admitted ruefully.

Liara bailed me out before things could get any more depressing. "Shepard, I've made some progress. We can gather the squad whenever you're ready."

Considering they had nothing better to do than give me a hard time, I decided now was as good a time as any. I quickly went around and called everyone together. Within a few minutes, everyone was waiting around the table.

"We have a lead," Liara began. "I called in some favours to run a trace on the gun. It led me to a human named Elijah Khan. Garrus, I'm not sure if you came across him during your time with C-Sec."

"Khan," Garrus repeated. "Now that you mention it, the name does ring a bell. Small-time arms dealer who went in and out of jail before supposedly going legit. If I remember correctly, he'd just bought a casino when news about Saren going rogue broke out. We never could figure out how he raised the capital, though we always suspected him of going back to his old ways."

"Some of my other sources would confirm that," Liara agreed. "Specifically, there are some indications that he's been using the casino as a front to smuggle weapons onto the Citadel and conduct arms deals. Immediately after the attempt on Shepard's life, Khan made an interesting call."

She activated her omni-tool and played a recording. _"I'm cutting you off. I'm returning your down payment now."_

"_What's the problem?" _another voice asked. Unlike the first one, this was deeper and artificially distorted.

"_Turn on a vidscreen! When I sell a gun, I don't want it showing up on the evening news!"_

"_You won't be linked to me."_

"_Save it. Our association is terminated. And if you even think of coming after me, I've got info on you ready for prime time, so you ponder that. Khan out."_

"So that's our identity thief," I said.

"Sounds like he's got an ID disguiser," Garrus frowned. "Those things are a pain in the ass to get around."

"Did you get anything on the people who attacked us?" I asked.

"The description you provided matches a private military corporation called CAT6. As some of you know, CAT6 is a nickname for 'Category 6,' the designation reserved for soldiers who are dishonourably discharged from the Alliance. It might not surprise you to learn that virtually all members of CAT6 are former Alliance soldiers who were dismissed under such conditions. Many have criminal records, histories of steroid abuse and… other charming features."

"Never heard of them," James declared.

"They are a small and relatively new outfit who have yet to make a reputation for themselves," Liara explained.

No doubt killing me would go a long way to fixing that. Under other circumstances, I might even be flattered.

"Considering their recent activities, it's likely they were hired by the identity thief, not by Khan," Liara concluded.

"That call was pretty damning stuff," I said. "How'd you get it?"

"It involved the weapon's biometric data, salarian intelligence and a hanar prostitute with camera implants."

I blinked. "Seriously?"

"No. But the truth is boring."

"After the last few years, I could do with boring."

"There was no hanar prostitute. And if you want boring, try sifting through countless databases one search at a time because you're using randomized burst transmissions to avoid being traced."

"Thanks for taking one for the team."

"You're welcome."

I tapped a finger thoughtfully against my chin. "Khan didn't sound particularly happy at the prospect of being linked to CAT6's very public assault. If his business relationship with his client has soured, maybe he'd be willing to pass that info to us."

Liara seemed skeptical. "That would take some extremely smooth talking."

"I suppose securing krogan aid for the turians, overseeing the release of fertile krogan females from the salarians, curing the genophage and spearheading the end of hostilities between the quarians and the geth would be good practice," Miranda reminded her.

"Amongst other things," Liara conceded. "You'd have to talk fast, Shepard. If he sees you, he'll probably assume you're looking for revenge and run. As it stands, he's already dropped out of sight."

"People don't just disappear," Kaidan pointed out. "Any idea where he might have gone?"

"The call I intercepted came from somewhere inside the Silver Coast Casino," Liara replied. "Chances are, he'll have gone to ground there. EDI can give us programs to hack the door, but the cameras and guards complicate things."

"Yeah, Khan could disappear or worse," Brooks said. "If his guards ever open fire, normal people could get hit. Like I did."

"Then we'll have to play this smart," I said. "We can't risk spooking him. Nor can we risk civilian casualties by a frontal assault. So we go in quiet. Small team. No gunplay. All we need is a way in."

Glyph suddenly lit up—literally. "Dr. T'Soni: this evening, the casino will be hosting a charity fundraiser to assist war refugees." **(4) **

"That'll work," I mused.

Liara nodded in agreement. "Purchase some tickets, Glyph, then call up a layout of the building."

Glyph obligingly found a three-dimensional blueprint of the casino, which it displayed over the table. As for the other request...

"Working... I'm sorry, Dr. T'Soni, but it appears that the deadline for purchasing tickets passed twenty minutes and forty-five seconds ago."

I checked my chronometer. That would be about midnight. If only I'd shaken off those hostiles who were determined to deprive me of some well-earned sushi sooner…

"That's not good," James muttered.

He might have been stating the obvious, but he also had a point. "One thing at a time," I said. "Let's focus on these blueprints here." I fell silent as I quickly looked over the layout. The casino entrance led up from the Silversun Strip to the first floor, which held a bar, roulette tables, varren race tables, a bank of quasar terminals and a couple offices. The second floor had a few more gambling tables and a dance floor. Going back to the first floor, I looked more carefully at the offices. "There," I pointed after a moment. "According to these notes, this office here was recently converted into a panic room."

"Score!" Joker cheered. "That's gotta be where Khan's holed up. So how close can you get? You don't usually put a back door in a panic room."

"This air shaft bypasses the security gate and ends up in storage," EDI suggested, pointing out the shaft in question. "From there, the panic room's door cameras and security lockouts can be disabled."

"Probably as close as we're gonna get," Kaidan frowned, "but we're still talking about a casino. There's gotta be alarms in that shaft."

"And cameras," Steve said. "And guards."

"I believe I have some countermeasures that may help," Liara assured us. "I'll know more once we're inside."

"Who will go in the shaft?" Javik wanted to know. "They need to be small in size."

"Yeah, that's not me," Wrex rumbled. "Too many snacks of roast varren leg."

Everyone looked at Tali.

"I suspect my suit's built-in tech would be picked up by security sensors," she admitted.

We all looked at EDI. "My presence in the casino would arouse suspicion," she warned us. "Mechs are generally not allowed in casinos since they can have cheating software."

"What you need is somebody trained in zero-emissions tech," Brooks said. "No electronics. No metal. Just undetectable polymers."

"What we need is more information and more tools to pull this off," I said. Ever since Liara mentioned Khan's whereabouts, I'd been putting together a vague plan of action. Now it was time to fill in some of the blanks. "Glyph, when exactly is this charity thing?"

"The casino will close at 1500 to all public guests. The fundraiser itself will begin at 1600. A formal dinner is scheduled at 1800, followed by an auction at 1930. After—"

"Got it," I interrupted. "That gives us some time to prepare." Which would be a nice change of pace from rushing in blind and making everything up on the spot. "EDI, Tali: see if you can tap into the cameras around the casino. Also, hack into Khan's comm frequencies and e-mail accounts. If he leaves the casino, we need to know.

"Assuming he stays put, we need more intel on the casino. Liara, Brooks: you're up. See if you can persuade someone to sell you some tickets to the charity event."

"Under your name?" Brooks asked. "If CAT6 or the identity thief is paying attention, that'll raise all sorts of alarms."

"Which is why we'll use an alias," Miranda replied before I could open my mouth. "Liara, I'll give you the details."

After Liara nodded, I continued laying out my plan. "Even if you can't get the tickets, you can still take a look at the casino itself. What kind of surveillance—vid-cams and so on—do they have and where are they located? How many guards are there? Do they follow any kind of patrol route? That sort of thing.

"Next item of business: attire. I believe Glyph said something about a formal dinner."

"Yes," Liara nodded. "The dress code is indicated as 'black tie required'.

"Nothing we are currently wearing would qualify," I said. "And it's probably a safe bet that CAT6 is watching the Normandy, so we can't retrieve our formal wear from our lockers either. Which means we have to go shopping. Miranda?"

"I've got it covered," she reassured me.

"Excellent. Now, we're going to see if we can talk to Khan without things turning into a firefight. Assuming he gives us the intel we need, our next order of business will be to track down CAT6 and the identity thief, who I doubt will be quite so accommodating. Which means we'll need weapons and armour. Some of you have that covered; some of you do not. I, for one, wouldn't mind having more than a pistol to work with. So… Garrus, Wrex: talk to everyone here and see who's missing anything that would be needed in a combat scenario, then go out and buy what we need."

"Why us?" Wrex asked.

"Between Garrus's C-Sec days and your past as a bounty hunter, the two of you must know enough semi-legal, grey market and straight-up illegal gun dealers and arms merchants to buy anything we need."

"Makes sense."

"The rest of us are on standby. Miranda may need some hands to help pick up our clothes. Or Garrus and Wrex may need an extra set of hands lugging weapons and whatnot. Any questions?"

"This could get pretty expensive," Tali pointed out. "Who's paying for all this?"

…

"Why is everyone looking at me?" I asked warily.

"Come on, Shepard," Miranda said with a straight face, "everyone knows you're well-off. You must be, after all the crates you opened."

"And the datapads you pilfered," Garrus chimed in with a smirk.

"And the computers you hacked," Wrex nodded.

I held up my hands to forestall any more character assassination attempts. **(5)**

"All right, all right. I get the point. You're telling me no one else has any covert accounts set aside for a rainy day?"

"Nope."

"Uh uh."

"Are you kidding?"

"Fine," I sighed. "Miranda, Garrus, Wrex: I'll give you the access codes to some accounts. Don't empty them out."

"No promises," they all said in unison.

* * *

There were enough beds, couches and sofas for everyone to lie down and get some shuteye. Well, everyone except me and EDI: the two of us went back out to pay Commander Bailey a visit. C-Sec was undoubtedly investigating why a popular sushi restaurant became ground zero for a firefight. While I didn't want to conduct an official joint investigation with them just yet—too much red tape and too many opportunities for a leak—I didn't want to leave them blindsided either. Hence an unofficial, face-to-face visit.

To say Bailey wasn't happy was an understatement. Partly because he technically wasn't responsible for any of the Wards since his promotion to Commander. Partly because yet another Spectre was running an operation on the Citadel, causing all sorts of trouble, pulling rank and waving around the 'need-to-know' card. Eventually, he agreed to get in touch with his counterpart and give her the heads-up. With that little task accomplished, I went back to get a few hours sleep.

At 0630, I got everyone up and sent them off on their assigned tasks. We got together at noon for lunch and another briefing. "Let's see where we're at," I began. "Miranda?"

"Formal wear was purchased for everyone except Javik. Garrus, Tali and Wrex had… limited options, but I did the best I could. I'd like to thank James and Kaidan for helping me pick up the clothing. Naturally, everything is custom-tailored."

"Naturally," I nodded. "I'm curious about Javik: you couldn't find anything that was suitable for him?"

"In my cycle, there was no such thing as formal wear," Javik snorted before she could reply. "I see no reason to start now."

"Okay," I nodded gamely. "Moving on. Garrus? Wrex?"

Garrus took the lead. "Most of us were fully suited and equipped for combat. In fact, the only people needing anything were Cortez, Brooks and you, Shepard."

"I'm a lover and a pilot, not a fighter," Joker put in.

"We bought what was needed," Wrex finished. "All you need to know, Shepard, is we didn't leave you broke."

"Good to know. I'm probably going to regret saying this, but I'll want to see the bill anyway. Liara? Brooks? How did you make out at the casino?"

"I regret I have to begin with some bad news," Liara said. "It seems this charity event only had a limited amount of tickets, the last of which were sold out yesterday."

"Can we hack into their server and add our names to the invite list?" I wanted to know.

Brooks nodded enthusiastically. "Yeah, no problem. Well, there might have been a problem, but Liara had this brilliant idea. See, she had me go over to one of the sensor nodes and overwhelm it with a cascade virus while she—"

"Gotcha," I interrupted. "So we're in?"

"Indeed," Liara nodded.

My mind flashed back to the last time I was on Illium. We were intercepting a package intended for Cerberus and had to go undercover at a luxury hotel. **(6)** "Did you see an opportunity to get one of our own people working at the casino?"

"Unfortunately, no. They do accept applications through their extranet site, but there are no job postings at the moment. I should add that the Silver Coast Casino is not as large as the Grand Mirage on Illium. All the security guards and casino staff are known to each other. The catering staff and entertainment has been carefully vetted, down to the identity of each and every individual. In short, there is no way for us to insert one of our own into the employee pool without raising suspicion, especially given the short time frame."

So much for that idea. "What else can you tell us?"

"Khan is indeed hiding in the casino. We overheard conversations between the guards indicating that he has taken refuge in his office—the one recently retrofitted into a panic room—and has not left since. To get to him, we'll have to pass through a contingent of guards who are equipped with augmented reality visors, which are linked to an extensive network of vid-cams.

"Our reconnaissance suggests two ways in. The first way is to have someone go through the air shaft we identified earlier and disable the panic room's security lockouts. Someone else would have to make their way to the office and get in, bypassing the guards and other cameras along the way."

"The second option is essentially the same, but with some more strategic disruption of the casino's surveillance network and less air shaft crawling. The intent would be to disable vid-cams and cause disturbances at certain areas, thus drawing guards and attention away from Khan's office."

"Option 2 has my vote," Tali said firmly. "I'd rather bypass cameras and locks than crawl through air shafts."

There was a general chorus of agreement amongst the crowd.

"I like the second option myself," I agreed. "Here's what I'm thinking: we'll have two teams to cover that part—one person will handle the hacking, the other will provide cover or distraction as needed. Miranda, you'll go with me; Garrus, you'll go with Tali. Liara will tell us which cameras to disable."

"Of course," Liara nodded.

"Next: we need people to provide a distraction," I continued.

"I'm in," Wrex volunteered.

"Me too," Kaidan added.

"Good," I nodded. "Between the commotion and the camera issues, that should draw enough guards away to open up a path to the panic room. Tali will bypass the security lockouts and enable the manual controls. Miranda, Garrus and I will deal with the cameras. Then we'll have a chat with Mr. Khan.

"EDI, Liara and Brooks will run this operation from here—EDI because the casino's policy on mechs, Liara and Brooks because your faces are already in the casino's system after your earlier recon. That leaves James, Javik, Joker and Cortez—the four of you will take up position outside the casino, just in case Khan tries to make a break for it."

"All right, then. We've got about three hours to get ready. You have your assignments. Let's get to it."

* * *

Miranda handed me my clothes personally. I let her describe the dress shirt, undershirt, underwear and socks in more detail than I really needed. All I really cared about was that it fit and would look appropriate for the fundraiser. Still, I figured I could learn something and it seemed important to her, so I let her say her piece.

Things started getting interesting with the shoes. Most formal shoes aren't equipped with a reinforced steel mesh that could really hurt anyone on the business end of a kick without adding significantly to the weight. But the hidden gem was the suit jacket. Specifically, the protective lining of ceramic plates and woven fibres. It might not be bulletproof, but it was certainly a far sight better than wool or silk.

Naturally, everything was bespoke. I noticed two things about my suit. First, it looked very similar to the suit Kasumi procured for me when I helped her out with a personal mission. The only difference, aside from a slightly less pronounced collar, was the fact that the accent running along the lapel and down the front of the jacket was light black silk instead of white wool. A more classic tone, rather than a modern touch.

"There's no point in giving you two versions of the same outfit," Miranda said when I pointed that out.

The other thing I recognized was the protective features sewn between the wool outer layer and the silk inner lining. Ceramic plates and interwoven synthetic fibres would go a long way towards stopping bullets and other incoming fire.

"Thanks," I finally said. "What're you wearing?"

She simply smiled. "You'll see," was all she said.

With that bit of mystery, I was left to change. Somehow, I was the first one to get dressed. That still made me the second one to make it to the kitchen, where we'd agreed to meet up: Javik, who didn't have anything to change into, was already waiting. "Your ceremonial outfit could use some armour," he said.

"It's got more protection than you'd think," I replied. "Plus, it fits the dress code. I still think we should have gotten you an old-school tuxedo."

"It would be of no use. If people who know what I am, the clothes will not matter."

"I was mostly thinking of the entertainment value," I winked.

While Javik tried to make sense out of that comment, I went to check on Liara, EDI and Brooks. Given that they weren't going out, they had no need to dress up. "All set?"

"Equipment powered up and functioning within optimal parameters," EDI confirmed.

"Why, Shepard," Liara smiled. "Formal wear suits you."

"Only when Miranda's doing the measuring," I replied. "Somehow, dress blues don't feel quite the same."

"You can thank Alliance Logistics and their obsession with one-size-fits-all," Kaidan said behind me. "Looking good, Commander."

"You too," I replied, turning around. Now I saw the other reason why Miranda had picked another suit for me: if she hadn't, Kaidan and I would have worn the same black and white outfit.

"What can I say," Kaidan shrugged. "I'm a man of many talents."

"And many styles," Garrus said, coming around the corner. "Or maybe that's just humanity in general. You look good, Shepard. You too, Kaidan."

We thanked him and returned the compliments. I gave him the once-over. Black wool with twin white stripes running down the front. Looked more like a uniform than anything a civvie would wear. "Those your dress blues?" I guessed.

"Yes," he coughed in embarrassment. "The downside of a militaristic culture. Humans have us beat in variety of formal wear."

"At least you can dress up," Tali told him. "The best Miranda could do is change fabrics and add an extra belt. I'm not sure that qualifies."

Miranda had chosen a hood and fabric that had the same swirling pattern Tali normally wore; only it was white on black instead of varying shades of purple. "It definitely qualifies," I assured her. "Garrus?"

"Your best has my mandibles on the floor," he grinned. "Damn!"

"And just remember, Garrus," I said, clapping him on the shoulder, "ladies _love _a man in a uniform."

"Lookin' fine, Commander," James hooted as he trotted down the stairs, sporting a suit similar to Kaidan's, though the collar was raised halfway up his neck.

"You clean up nice, James," I replied. "Don't think I could pull that collar off myself."

"Ms. Lawson gave me a choice: high collar, or cover up the tats with makeup. I like collars."

"And I hate this… outfit," Wrex growled. "I look ridiculous."

I turned my head and somehow managed not to laugh. You know those pajamas that have other forms of clothing or figures stenciled on? Imagine getting an extra-extra-extra large version and stuff a krogan into it. That's kinda what Wrex was attempting to pull off. "Think of it like camouflage," I suggested. "You don't want to scare the prey."

"Then we need to find bigger prey," he grumbled.

I might have said something else, but that was when Miranda made her entrance. Her hair was artfully curled up. Naturally, she didn't wear—or need—any makeup. She wore a stunning royal blue dress, with a slit running up the side. She descended the stairs slowly, almost regally—partly because it was Miranda, partly to show off the fact that the dress had no back whatsoever.

By the time she joined us, everyone had fallen silent. It was up to me to break the silence.

"It's settled, then: if anyone looks at this group tonight, Miranda, you'll be the reason why. You look… absolutely perfect."

* * *

The charity fundraiser at the Silver Coast Casino was the big event of the evening, if the red carpet and hordes of onlookers were any indication. Vid-screens and holo-displays cluttered the area, showing all the charities and refugees who would be benefiting from this soiree. A red carpet led to the door—the perfect avenue for all the dignitaries, celebrities and various elites to be seen by the hordes of onlookers. Dignitaries, celebrities and elites… and, well, us.

Miranda made a sigh of contentment as we approached. She may not have had the best childhood, but it was one where she rubbed elbows with the galaxy's movers and shakers on a regular basis. Walking amongst the cream of the crop was normal for her… until she brought me back from the dead and was forced to radically adjust her definition of normal. Going to an event like this, even if it was for a mission, must have been like coming home. "Let it never be said I don't take you anywhere nice," I murmured.

"It's a start," she allowed. "Shall we?"

The two of us walked down the carpet, smiling and waving to random people without knowing or caring who they were. That was when I noticed something. "Uh, we've got a problem."

"_What is it?" _Liara asked.

"The guards are using facial recognition drones to verify the guests' identification," I reported.

"_And if they scan your face, they'll either realize that Victor Vale doesn't actually exist or that he bears a suspiciously uncanny resemblance to Commander Shepard. Not to mention Amber Vale or any of the other aliases we set up. We'll try to hack their system, but we'll need a few minutes." _

"We don't have time," I hissed. "We're next." I thought quickly. "Okay. I can jam the guard's signal and buy you some time—hello, there!"

The burly human guard at the front door greeted us with an ever-so-friendly "Names, please."

"Victor and Amber Vale," I said. The guard stared at his omni-tool.

…

"Yes, I see your names. Now if you'll just stand still."

"What for?" Miranda asked sharply.

"I'm afraid we have many security protocols here at the Silver Coast Casino. This is one of them."

"Taking our photos? Really?"

"Facial recognition. To confirm your identity."

"Well, I never," Miranda huffed. "I've never been so… so… insulted."

"Ma'am, this is just standard proced—"

"How do I know that these images won't be posted on some tawdry extranet site for the galaxy to see? I have enough issues with the paparazzi as it is."

"I can assure you that any images will not be uploaded anywhere."

"_Uploading facial recognition now," _EDI said.

"It's all right," I said soothingly. "Let the man do his job. Here, I'll go first, okay?"

I made a big show of submitting to the drone's intrusive attempts to get a close-up of my face. Miranda did the same with ever sign of reluctance.

"My apologies, Mr. and Mrs. Vale—"

"I can imagine," Miranda sniffed.

"—but everything appears to be in order," the guard said without missing a beat. "Please go in and enjoy your evening."

"We will," I said. "Thank you."

Miranda glared, but said nothing.

We made it inside without any further delays and began climbing the stairs. _"Glad you made it through," _Garrus said.

"That makes two of us," I replied. "Give me a sitrep, everyone."

"_Buggy and I found a café overlooking the casino," _James started_. "Got a sweet view of the area. Other than that snafu with the guard earlier, everything's fine on our end."_

"_Tali and I are about fourth in line," _Garrus reported.

"_Sixth," _Wrex said.

"_I'm _way_ behind you guys," Kaidan said, "but I'll be there eventually. I hope." _

"_Now that we know what we're working with, we can upload your pictures," _Liara reassured him—and the rest of us. _"EDI, Brooks and I will keep in contact in case we're needed again."_

"_Um, yeah," _Brooks piped up. _"I just wanted to say Liara had a point about all the surveillance. Khan really didn't skimp on that. Maybe you should try and look normal? Mingle with the guests? Strike up a conversation?"_

I could swear I saw a vein on Miranda's head throb as she digested the idea of Brooks giving her advice on how to blend in and keep a low profile. "Thank you, Brooks," I said politely, "but this isn't our first rodeo. Miranda, what say we head on up and meet the riff-raff?"

A terse nod sufficed as a reply.

The first thing I noted as we climbed the stairs was how quiet it was. Most casinos are filled with gambling machines blaring synthesized music at deafening volumes, the cacophony rivalled only by an equally raucous crowd. Tonight, the machines were silent. Quiet instrumental music played in the background as the guests talked amongst themselves. A constellation of metal spheres and vertical light fixtures hovered above us, slowly spinning in place thanks to the carefully hidden mass effect field generators.

When we reached the top, we found ourselves in a small circular foyer. In front of us stood a large landscape portrait of a sunset—or sunrise—greeting us with the words 'Fundraiser'. Just in case anyone forgot why we were all gathered here tonight. There was a bar to our left and a bank of quasar machines to our right. There were more people near the former than the latter, so that's where we went first.

"No, no," we heard a human woman tell an asari. "I'm not running for Citadel Council. I'm running for _Zakera Ward _City Council." **(7)** The asari promptly lost interest. Me? I was just getting started.

"Hi," the human smiled as we approached. "Elspeth Murrain. I'm running for Zakera Ward City Council. Are you a citizen here?"

"No," I shook my head. "In between duty assignments at the moment."

"Likewise," Miranda added. A bit of a stretch, considering she wasn't military. But Murrain didn't need to know that. "I take it you're looking for potential voters."

"I'm looking for people who have issues to discuss. Too many politicians are only interested in their own agendas or appealing to narrow-minded interest groups. That's why I'm running—I got sick of leaders with ties to Terra Firma or Cerberus or worse."

Somehow, I felt neither Terra Firma nor Cerberus qualified as 'interest groups,' but I didn't interrupt.

"The ward needs refugee facilities. It needs housing. It needs security and jobs and, well, everything. And hopefully with a friend like Elijah Khan backing me, I can make it happen."

"How do you know Mr. Khan?" Miranda asked. "Exactly."

"He's a campaign contributor."

"Uh huh," I said. "Have you done a background check on him?"

"Why?"

Oh boy. "If you haven't checked up on him, you should. And maybe check with C-Sec while you're at it."

She paled. "He's dirty?"

"Like you wouldn't believe."

"Argh! Not again!"

Again? "Ma'am?"

"I can't believe this! I just had to return a donation from some Terminus pirate woman."

"Was her name Aria T'Loak, by any chance?" I asked, already knowing the answer.

"Yeah. And before that, it was an asari. Tela something-or-other. Said she was a businesswoman, but she was actually Special Forces. Maybe even a Spectre."

Okay. First off, the proper term was 'commando.' Second, Tela might be a common asari name, but the last Tela I ran across was Tela Vasir, a Spectre who was in the former Shadow Broker's pocket. Emphasis on 'was' and 'former.' Not the kind of person who would fund a politician's campaign for altruistic purposes.

"And before that, there was this krogan who had ties to the Blood Pack… do I have a sign on my back saying 'Sucker Here. Come and Exploit Me'?"

She certainly wasn't coming across as formidable. Naïve, maybe. "You may want to consider investing some resources into vetting your campaign contributors more thoroughly," I replied. "Nice talking with you, Ms. Murrain. Good luck."

Leaving the would-be councillor behind, we drifted over to the bar. "What are you having?" the bartender asked. "Drinks are complimentary tonight."

"Perfection," Miranda said.

At first I thought Miranda was talking about herself. That impression was quickly dispelled as the bartender reached for some strawberry liqueur. "What about you, sir?" he asked as his hands grabbed various ingredients seemingly at random.

Serrice Ice brandy came to mind. So did a nice glass of red wine. But I suppose it was well past time I expanded my non-existent palate. "Nothing too crazy. I want to be able to walk a straight line."

"One Thessian Temple coming up," he said without missing a beat.

"Really?" I asked. "Are asari drinks usually milk?"

He shook his head and smiled. "Not all of them. Mr. Khan had us put out some gelatin shots earlier. Also asari, but they kick like a shotgun."

"I imagine they would be quite popular," Miranda observed.

"You wouldn't be wrong. Mind you, some of the more adventurous souls are trying the mindfish. It's what hanar like to do instead of alcohol. Here you go, ma'am." He handed Miranda her drink before starting mine.

"What's a mindfish?" I wanted to know.

"Native to Kahje, the hanar homeworld. Hallucinogenic skin oil. Gets hanar buzzed right up."

"I guess since hanar are mostly water, imbibing alcohol and getting dehydrated would be bad," I mused. 'What happens if humans eat it?"

"Way more potent and it releases into our systems slowly. Best to clear your schedule for the entire weekend."

Message received. "I'm curious. What's the craziest thing you've ever served up?"

The bartender finished my drink, passed it to me and thought about it. "Well, there's the burukh. That's a krogan drink you set on fire, put out and drink from the scalding-hot cup. There's a 'Weeping Heart'—a martini made with drell-skin venom. Venom's pretty mild, though. Oh wait—how could I forget about the volus bina? Alcohol puts you on the floor and the ammonia lets you clean up the mess you made. If you live."

Eep. Think I'll stick with my mild Thessian Temple.

Thanking the bartender, I turned to leave—and came this close to bumping into a pair of asari. "Why hello, love," one of them said. "Isn't the turnout amazing? I wasn't sure anyone would show up."

"We pull together when we have to," I said politely.

"I feel so bad for you humans," the first asari continued. "If you need a place to stay or anything, you just let me know."

"Thanks," I said slowly, "but I have a place to stay now."

"So you had _nothing_ before that?" the other asari gasped. "How brave of you to endure, dear."

"The humans are so resilient," the first one nodded solemnly. Like that phrase of theirs: 'Stiff one in the lips'."

"'Stiff upper lip'," I corrected.

"Right, of course. What did I say?"

I wasn't sure how I felt about their ignorance and arrogance, though once again I was grateful that Liara was the first asari I really got to know. **(8)** That was when Kaidan reported in. _"I'm inside. Bit of a delay: lineup slowed down because some asari __celebrity had to take photos with just about everyone."_

That was as good an excuse as any to end this conversation. I caught Miranda's eye. Taking the hint, she began chatting with the asari—Selyana Eranos and Lihana Pirrit, who were friends of Khan—while I slipped away. "All right, everyone," I said over the comm. "Begin Phase Two."

Phase Two. Also known as camera hacking. According to Liara's intel, there were four vid-cams—each connected to their own junction box—that we had to bypass. She'd given us resonance emitter lenses to find them—well, she gave Miranda the lenses. Garrus, Tali and I could get away with just the software thanks to the visor, helmet display, ocular implants, respectively—though her intel was so good it wasn't really necessary. But I digress.

The first of the vid-cams was right near the snooty asari. It only took a few moments to bypass the vid-cam. Miranda and the asari were still chatting—something about hitting the roulette tables and showing up some human girl—so I sidled over to a nearby ATM and hacked it. Got a few thousand credits out of it. Then I hacked another ATM. **(9) **Just a side benefit of having disabled the camera. Besides, all that shopping did a real number on my credit accounts.

Sensing that Miranda had had enough of the asari, I rescued her from any more mindless conversation. The next vid-cam that needed disabling was just outside the varren race tables. Tali had beaten us to it, though. She was quietly hacking it with her omni-tool while Garrus was distracting the guard. "You're human, right?"

"Um, yes." The guard was too polite—and professional—to add 'Obviously.'

"Perfect. I'm kind of on the outs with my human girlfriend. Could you give me some insights?"

"Sir, I am definitely not an expert."

"But you are human."

Kaidan was there too, chatting with some human—a varren race gambler, I later learned—standing by in case Tali needed another distraction. Seeing that they had things under control, Miranda and I moved on to the roulette tables. I spotted the third vid-cam and the junction box powering it.

Just as I was about to head over, a human woman waved at me. "Hey, you. Tough guy."

This time, I was the one stuck chatting with a snooty lady while Miranda did the grunt work. And not just any lady, but Aishwarya Ashland—a celebrity infamous for clubbing, drinking, getting high on red sand and generally doing nothing. "Um, yes?"

"You'll do. I need an opinion on something from a B-lister or below."

I'm… flattered?

"Houses with retractable roofs. Still in? Or too common?"

"Your house has a retractable roof?"

"Only the one on the Citadel. I gotta take care of it since the one on Earth got all Reaperfied."

Some people really do have more credits than sense. "Instead of modelling, maybe you could invite a few refugees to come stay."

"Oh, I'm totally on that. But finding the right one is hard, you know? So many of them don't have agents."

Behind us, a croupier called out "Round and round and round she goes."

Ms. Ashland put her hands on her hips indignantly. "What's that supposed to mean? Is that, like, code for how wasted I am?"

The turian next to her _was_ holding a lot of empty glasses. Still, I felt I had to say something. "I think she's referring to the roulette wheel."

"That's sexism. Wait, I mean objectivism. That's sexism for inanimate things."

I'm no philosopher, but I was pretty sure she was wrong. "And you learned that… where?"

"Oh, online. You can take these courses, and it teaches you responsibility, because _you _do the grading."

"You're… remarkable."

"No, actually, I'm a Scorpio. What about you? Tell me, you're not a Leo. I went out with a Leo once and…"

Okay. Not a lot going on up there, I could tell. I wanted to get away—partly for the sake of my sanity, partly because we really needed to continue the mission. Miranda had been trying her best while I was occupied. Unfortunately, there were too many guards patrolling the area for Miranda to get a good crack at the junction box and camera. Looking around, I spotted Wrex. Perfect. "I'm sorry, but I just recognized a friend of mine. Nice meeting you."

Walking away, I quickly sent a burst transmission to Wrex: "Wrex, I need you to distract the guard at your three o'clock."

Wrex immediately stalked over and almost ran the poor guy over. "I need to look at your kitchen," he said, completely ignoring the guard's personal space. "I'm a food inspector."

The guard looked a bit dubious, but was too polite—and professional—to say so. "Uh… I'm going to have to see some credentials."

While the two of them hashed it out, I targeted the other guard. "Excuse me. I think I saw someone doing drugs in the men's room."

"I see. Were you able to identify the substance used?"

"Red powder, came in a small bag. I saw a documentary once on red sand, and it kinda looked like that."

"I see." The guard quickly activated his omni-tool. "Dispatch, we've got a possible sand-tripper in the bathrooms."

"_Have they tried to compromise the games biotically?"_

"Unknown at this time. Got a tip from one of the guests. Moving to investigate. Send backup." He ended the call and nodded his thanks. "We're taking care of it, sir. Appreciate the help."

"Any time," I smiled.

Miranda was just walking towards me when I turned away. "Done," she said.

"Good job."

"Same to you. Thank you for distracting Aishwarya. I met her mother once. From what I overheard, her daughter has similar… deficiencies."

Ah yes. Mommy Ashland: also named Aishwarya. Apparently she named her daughter after the woman she admired most—herself. Says a lot, doesn't it? "Just one more camera to tackle," I said instead.

"Lead the way."

We started walking towards the nearest stairs, leaving Wrex to accost the poor guard about safety regulations and proper food storage. I slowed down when I saw a familiar-looking asari. Sha'ira, also known as the Consort. Famous for giving advice, conversation, entertainment and 'personal services' to a wide range of famous and powerful clients. She had a great deal of respect and influence—a far cry from the asari I'd bumped into earlier. The last time we'd met, she was having some problems with retired turian general Septimus Oraka. I helped her sort things out and she gave me some free advice. She also gave me some free advice when I was recruiting people to investigate colony abductions and, later on, to attack the Collector base—good advice, considering how many of them had issues they needed to sort out.

Sha'ira was talking to a human male as I approached. "I heard your advice is so good it's psychic," he said. "So what's going to happen to me in the next few minutes?"

"Disappointment."

"Oh… hey."

He stepped aside to ponder that, which made the perfect opening for me. "Commander Shepard," she greeted me.

"Sha'ira," I nodded. "It's been a long time."

"My idea of a long time is different than yours, Commander."

"What can I say?" I shrugged. "I put a lot of living into the last few years."

"Indeed."

"It's good to see you again. I think I once heard a rumour that you were leaving the Citadel."

"I did leave. Some so-called 'journalists' made up stories about me. Because of their venom, I retired to a little colony in the Silean Nebula."

"I'm sorry to hear that. But you came back. Why?"

"Because I knew people here and they needed comforting. And because one does not flee the heart of the galaxy in desperate times. Not because of some scoundrel with a video camera."

"True enough. If it's not too much trouble, do you have any advice for me this time?"

"Only this: your victories have come through bringing people together against overwhelming odds and a common, terrifying foe. You must continue fighting to bring them together, even without that shared adversary, for that need to work side by side is greater than ever."

"Thank you. Enjoy your evening."

"You too, Commander."

Miranda was patiently waiting for me at the foot of the stairs. Once upon a time, she'd be tapping her foot, wondering why I was taking so much time to talk to every random stranger. Now she knew this was all part of my process. How things had changed…

"Anyone have a chance to go upstairs?" I asked.

She shook her head. "One of the guards caught her hacking the vid-cam. She and Garrus are busy convincing him that it was a suit malfunction. Kaidan has been trying to go, but some lawyer won't stop talking to him. And no one knows where Wrex went off to."

"Checking out the kitchen, no doubt," I said, recalling his diversion. "Well, then, I guess it's up to us."

Upstairs offered another bar, which was entertaining a small group of guests. Over on our right was a small dance floor. All but one man was gyrating enthusiastically to the music—if you could call it that. Well, there was the turian, but judging by the way his head kept dipping, I think he was about to nod off—or pass out. Note to self: resist the urge to get on the dance floor. Last thing I needed was to get caught breaking out my dance moves. Knowing my luck, the damn vid would go viral and my reputation would be toast.

And… behind me, next to the stairway I just used earlier, was the last vid-cam and junction box. I quickly bypassed the former. Then, with the vid-cam disabled, I walked over a few steps and bypassed the latter

With that taken care of, I was free to continue accosting random strangers. I went back to the dance floor, where I saw the dancers still dancing, the turian now definitely passed out and the man—an elderly human—drinking. Could be nothing, but my curiosity was piqued. So, I investigated.

He glanced my way as I leaned against the rail beside him. "You know, I respect the first guy who looked up at Saturn and said 'That thing up there? It isn't a star. But you gotta love the guy who said 'That thing up there? That's gonna be my gas station."

"I suppose so," I said. "Enjoying the party?"

"Young people party. I drink. Tonight it's ryncol on the rocks."

"Ooh," I winced. "That stuff can put you down for the count."

"I've lost a staggering amount of income over the last few years. This puts things in perspective."

"Oh?"

"You know about all those helium-3 facilities that were being destroyed during the war?"

"I've flown by a few."

"To put it in layman's terms, most of those facilities were mine."

"Yikes," I winced. "I'm sorry to hear that."

"Thank you." He paused before putting down his ryncol. "I don't think I introduced myself. Jonah Ashland of Eldfell-Ashland Energy."

So _this _was Jonah Ashland. His company, Ashland Energy Corporation, was the first to successfully extract helium-3 from Saturn's atmosphere and kick-started a new era of fusion research. Taking advantage of this breakthrough, he had the visionary idea of merging with Eldfell Construction, which was well suited to build power plants, refineries, pipelines and other necessities to distribute Ashland's products to potential consumers. Thus, Eldfell-Ashland Energy was born. He was well respected in business circles, even despite the antics of his family.

"Shepard," I replied. "Pretty fancy night for someone worried about his financial future."

"It was my granddaughter's idea. Aish has a good heart, though she's going through a little… self-absorbed stage. Don't get me wrong: my love for her is unlimited. She just gives me a lot of opportunities to prove it."

That was one way of glossing over all the scandals she had been involved in. "I saw her downstairs by the roulette tables earlier."

"You saw her."

"And talked to her."

"Ah." He glanced down at his drink. "Then maybe I should pass the ryncol over to you."

"It wasn't that bad," I reassured him. "Our conversation was short, but hardly anything to be worried or embarrassed over."

"I'm relieved to hear that."

We looked at the crowd below in silence. I was looking for any guards. There certainly seemed to be more of them, hopefully due to the rash of vid-cam outages I'd instigated. As for Ashland…

"Look at them all down there," he finally said. "Twenty years ago you'd have never seen a shindig like this. Humans and turians together like it's nothing. Council species all concerned about the batarians. Everybody trying to have sex with the asari."

"That's not new," I interrupted.

"Just seeing if you were awake," he said slyly.

I laughed. "So. All these species in one room…"

"…and nobody afraid of each other anymore. The galaxy might turn out to be a pretty great place after all." **(10)**

"I'll drink to that," I smiled. "Cheers."

* * *

There were definitely more guards on patrol now, particularly near the areas with disabled vid-cams. Which meant we were as ready as we would ever be.

"People," I said over the comm, "it's time for Phase Three."

"_This may not be an issue," _Garrus said, _"but Wrex _still_ isn't back yet. Apparently, he's really selling this whole 'food inspector' thing."_

_"Don't worry," _James replied. _"Buggy's__ on the way."_

"Javik?" Miranda frowned. "Really?"

"_He didn't really give anyone a choice," _Steve said dryly.

"Well, what's done is done," I sighed as I got started. "Javik, Kaidan: you're up."

It took a minute for Javik and Kaidan to get into position, which was good because I needed that time to finish the bypass. By the time I wrapped things up and turned around, I could hear Javik greeting a guard with his usual diplomacy. "Human, I met your ancestors long ago. They were living in caves. Scratching their nether regions and throwing rocks at wildlife."

"We remind guests that some of our drinks do contain hallucinogens," the guard droned without skipping a beat. "Please drink responsibly."

The guard tried to step away, but Javik wasn't having it. "Yes. Your drinks. I must complain, human. The beverages here are toxic to my kind. You cannot serve them."

"Everything here is toxic to somebody," the guard sighed. "We ask that customers be vigilant with their beverage choices."

"I had my doubts about Javik," Miranda admitted as Javik continued accosting the poor beleaguered guard, "but he seems to be working out. How is Kaidan doing?"

"I'm not sure. Let's see now."

It didn't take long to find him. He was the only one flat-out running towards a guard. Several more guards, alarmed by this behaviour, abruptly deviated to surround him. "Um, excuse me. I have an emergency. You see, I've lost a _lot_ of money. Who can I talk to about getting it back?"

"Uh, I'm sorry. You can't..."

Kaidan's face dropped.

"…get it back."

His lips quivered.

"No, no… please, sir."

Tears started to well up. Swear to God.

"Please, sir. Please don't cry."

"This… this can't be happening. I was just trying to earn some more credits. My girlfriend… she said she just wanted to be friends. I think she was breaking up with me. You gotta understand, I… I love her. I thought, if I could buy a few gifts, take her out for dinner at a fancy restaurant or something, maybe she wouldn't dump me to the curb like yesterday's trash."

The guards looked at him with a mixture of sympathy, pity and contempt. They were so caught up in Kaidan's fictitious sob story, we had no problem slipping by.

As we approached the hallway leading to the panic room, we saw Garrus talking to another turian. They shook hands before the other turian departed. I raised an eyebrow at Garrus. "Friend of yours?"

"Hardly," Garrus snorted. "Rolan Quarn. Self-admitted con artist who claims it's his duty to redistribute wealth from the rich to the poor."

Turian Robin Hood, in other words.

"He was loitering here, which would give him a great view of any shenanigans we might get up to. Seeing how we probably wouldn't want him witnessing anything, I cashed in a favour from my C-Sec days and got him to loiter somewhere else."

"Good call," I approved.

"And where is Tali?" Miranda wanted to know.

"Dealing with the panic room locks," Tali reported, having just arrived. "Good news, I managed to switch the locks to manual mode. Had to reset _all _the doors using the emergency override, which isn't as elegant as I would have liked, but it'll do in a pinch."

"And the bad news?" I asked.

"There are still two guards and two vid-cams in the last area outside the panic room." Tali thought for a moment before adding "And a random couple of humans engaged in small talk."

"Okay," I said. "We need one group out here to provide a distraction. They need to raise enough of a ruckus to draw at least one of the guards away."

"Garrus and I have that covered," Tali volunteered.

"We do?" Garrus asked. He must have read something in her body language, because he immediately stated "We do. Spirits help us."

I had a feeling he was hoping that the spirits would help him in particular, but I kept that guess to myself. "Then Miranda and I will go in, join whatever conversation is going on and wait for Garrus and Tali. Miranda, once the show starts, I need you to deal with any guard that stays behind. I'll handle the vid-cams."

With everyone clear on their assigned tasks, Miranda and I went in and gravitated towards the couple Tali mentioned. "The thing about salarian parties is, they all do it too well," the man was saying.

"How so?" I butted in. "If you don't mind my asking."

"No problem," the man smiled. "I was telling my friend here that I had a short-term contract with a private lab on Sur'Kesh. I was the only human in my lab group. Everyone else was salarian. Everyone else had damn-near-perfect memories.

"Oh, that could get awkward," the woman said sympathetically.

"Exactly!" the man exclaimed. "It was all about who burned the cake six months ago or arguments that two people continue when they meet up once a year…"

"So they never let anything go," I grinned.

"Yeah, it was constant one-upmanship. I couldn't keep pace with them if I wanted to."

"I've attended parties and conferences where the guests behaved the same way," Miranda commiserated. "You don't have to be salarian to hold a grudge."

"So I guess you don't miss Sur'Kesh at all," the other woman guessed.

"Not the humidity, the one-upmanship or the lack of privacy. But the science was like nothing else."

"What did you work on?" I asked.

"What didn't we? Genomic sequencing, food scanners for the paranoid, chemical bonders, self-cleaning mating pools…"

"Learned a lot, huh?" Miranda guessed.

He shuddered. "For the mating pools, _way _more than I ever wanted to know."

All of a sudden, we heard a quarian shouting. Tali had started the distraction.

"There you are!"

"Sweetie, hi," we heard Garrus say. "I've been looking for you."

"Looking to see if you could sneak away with one of your other girlfriends, you mean!" Tali snapped.

"W-what are you talking about?"

"Oh, you know who I'm talking about! Nasera? Cetra? Bambi? Any of those names ring a bell?"

"Well, uh..."

"Bambi should. I heard you talking to that guard earlier. Asking for relationship advice for your _human _girlfriend. The one you were going to _propose to_?!"

"It's not what you think, sweetie. You know you're the only quarian for me."

"Don't you 'sweetie,' me! You're not going to talk your way out of this—wait just a minute! Did you say 'quarian'?" I'm the only 'quarian' for you? What about asari? Or turian? Or human? Hmm?"

"Um..."

"How long have you been cheating on me? How long? Do you know how humiliated I feel? Cheap and humiliated. I hate you. I hate you, I hate you, I hate you!"

"Ow! Hey, okay, I'm—ow, stop it!"

"I. HATE. YOU!"

By this point, Garrus was probably regretting having any part to play in this diversion. And the guards were definitely distracted. Miranda broke off to approach the guards. "What on Earth is going on out there? Can't you make them take their little squabble somewhere else?"

"I'm not sure, ma'am. I—"

"This is very stressful for me," Miranda fretted. "I'm feeling triggered here."

"It's going to be all right, ma'am. We're going to take care of it. Joe?"

"On it," Joe nodded. He hurried out the door. A moment later, we could hear him call out "Sir? Ma'am? Is there a problem?"

"Yes, there's a problem!" Tali exclaimed. "I want you to arrest this man for breaking my heart!"

"I... don't have the authority to do that, ma'am."

"Yes, dear. He doesn't—"

"Shut up!"

"Yes, dear."

With both guards thoroughly occupied, I was free to make my move. By this point, I had this bypass thing down to a science. A few seconds was all I needed to bypass each of the vid-cams. I turned around… only to spot something that looked like a sensor power box. I wasn't sure if it was attached to the panic room door, but I wasn't about to take any chances. Unfortunately, the remaining guard in the room was looking my way.

Sensing I needed another distraction, Miranda tapped the guard on the shoulder. "Excuse me? I just wanted to thank you. I've had a very stressful day—to be honest, the last several months were pure hell—and shouldn't have taken it out on you. You've been very patient and professional, and I really appreciate it."

"Well, thank you," the guard said, sounding somewhat mollified. "I can only imagine what you've been going through, but I hope things will start looking up."

"Oh they will, I'm sure."

"You have a good night, now."

That chat didn't last long, but it bought me enough time to bypass the sensor box without getting busted. As soon as the guard turned away, I motioned to Miranda. The two of us quickly rushed towards the panic room. I breathed a sigh of relief as the door opened up. Without a moment's hesitation, we stepped inside.

* * *

Khan's panic room was rather minimalist. Plain grey walls and black carpeting, without a single piece of artwork in sight. A sofa bed was made up; the rumpled sheets confirming the smuggler had spent the night here.

He slouched in his chair, which was turned towards a virtual fireplace rather than his office desk, which meant he didn't see Miranda and I come in. "Khan," I called out. "I'm not here to threaten you. I just want to talk."

He didn't say anything.

"Khan?" I repeated.

Feeling the telltale tingle on the back of my neck, I looked around nervously. The panic room was dimly lit, but I couldn't see any immediate threats. "Khan," I said again.

Still nothing. Reaching forward, I slowly turned the chair around.

His head was slumped forward. I started to shake his shoulder, stopped myself and ran a quick omni-tool scan. "Damn it," I cursed as the results came in.

"Dead?" Miranda asked as she joined me behind the desk.

"Afraid so." I got on the comm and reported our findings. While I brought everyone else up to speed, I couldn't help but realize that—thanks to all our shenanigans with the vid-cams and what-not—we had made ourselves prime suspects in Khan's untimely death. We had to get out of here before C-Sec got wind of this. Any peace I might have made through Commander Bailey would be destroyed if word got out.

_"What the hell?" _Tali exclaimed, bringing my attention back to the present.

_"Fuck!"_ James spat.

"It gets better," Miranda reported. "There's a deletion order on the terminal. Everything's been wiped."

"Damn it!" I said again. _Definitely _time to get out of here.

Then a thought occurred to me. Motioning for Miranda to step aside, I began typing commands into the console. "What are you looking for?" she asked.

"Mistakes."

It only took a moment for the results to come in. "Thought so," I smiled grimly. "Whoever did this to Khan had to act fast. They wiped the terminal, but not the comm."

_"So we can take the comm back to the safe house to scan it,"_ Brooks said over the comm.

"Yeah," I agreed, nodding before remembering she wasn't with us. "Maybe we can even trace the call back from Khan to whoever hired him and CAT6."

"_Unless that person calls you first."_

Miranda and I jerked our heads back and forth before realizing there was a large vid-screen above the fireplace. A vid-screen that had suddenly turned into a dark and deliberately blurry face. Whoever this mysterious figure was, he—or she—was definitely taking precautions.

I motioned for Miranda to start tracing the call. "So you're the one who tried to bump me off at Ryuusei."

_"Doesn't take a genius to figure that out. I se__e you've recovered from flopping on the floor like a fish."_

"You'll need to do better than that," I scoffed. "The last guy that trash-talked me was a few kilometres taller than you."

_"Brave. I thought as much, but it doesn't matter. You have nothing. All you can do is wait for the hammer to fall."_

"Why do this?" I asked in bewilderment. "What did I ever do to you?"

"Nothing. That's the problem. And I'm the solution. I'm going to take everything you have and everything you are."

The call abruptly ended. I quickly turned towards Miranda.

She shook her head. "Sorry, Shepard. There wasn't enough time to trace the call. All I could determine is that he or she is probably on the Wards."

"We're not finished," I replied. "Not by a long shot."

_"Shepard,"_ Garrus said, _"I'm sending you a copy of an old C-Sec forensic scan program. See if you can get anything from Khan's body."_

"Got it," I confirmed. "Starting the scan now. Miranda: pull out the data drives—wait. No. See if you can download the contents instead."

_"The ones that got wiped?"_ Brooks asked, sounding confused. _"You think we can find something?"_

"I think between EDI, Liara and Tali, anything's possible. The sooner we get the copy to them, the sooner we can track down this threat."

"Download complete," Miranda told me.

"Good." That would leave C-Sec something to work with, once they found out that Khan was dead.

We quickly left the panic room—and Khan's body—behind, rejoined the others and headed towards the casino's exit Far from finding the answers we sought, we were left with more questions than we started with. I crossed my fingers and prayed that the data copies would help shed some light on who this mysterious figure was.

* * *

_(1): Miranda's suspicions would eventually pan out._

_(2): An adaptation of 'Et tu, Brute,' a phrase from the ancient human language Latin meaning 'and you, Brutus' and a line from 'Julius Caesar', a play by the human poet, playwright and actor William Shakespeare. The phrase is often used to indicate an unexpected betrayal by a friend. _

_(3): Technically, neither Joker nor Lieutenant Cortez was part of Shepard's squad. Their inclusion was either a matter of convenience for recording his logs or a gesture of acceptance on this latest adventure. Also, I feel I should remind readers that some people did not, in fact, tease him about escaping the ambush at the sushi restaurant._

_(4): It was approximately 0020 at the time of this conversation._

_(5): Personally, I think Shepard was protesting a little too much._

_(6): The details of this mission have been covered in a previous compilation of personal logs. Readers who are curious—and have sufficient security clearance—may consult them at their leisure._

_(7): Not an uncommon mistake, given the similarity in titles._

_(8): The feeling was mutual._

_(9): Yes. That did, in fact, happen. Readers really should not be surprised. _

_(10): Sadly, such camaraderie was short-lived. Concerted, sustained effort by various groups and individuals was required to build any kind of long-term unity._


	4. Through the Looking Glass

**A Hero by Any Other Name**

**Chapter 4: Through the Looking Glass**

"Let's recap everything that's happened," I said to Miranda as we left the casino. "First, I get lured out for a sushi dinner at the fanciest sushi restaurant on the Citadel. Then I'm ambushed and almost killed before even having the chance to have any sushi. After narrowly escaping, I find out who was trying to kill me and who supplied said killers with various instruments of death. We go to an awful lot of trouble planning an elaborate scheme to infiltrate the casino in order to find the arms dealer… only to find out someone got to him first and made sure he wouldn't talk. All this within a few days of my getting discharged from the hospital."

"That would be an accurate summary of events thus far," Miranda confirmed.

"Is it just me, or is that an awfully big set of coincidences?"

"I don't believe in coincidences."

"Well I do, but not like this. Something's going on."

Miranda looked at me carefully. "You have an idea?"

"Maybe. Here's what I want you to do."

After sending her off, I hurried to join my squadmates and we returned to Anderson's apartment.

"It sounds like it was quite the party," Liara said, "even if things didn't go exactly as planned. At least you didn't come away empty-handed."

"I hope we can find something on the drive," Tali fretted.

"Same here," I said.

Liara looked at Tali. "Well, I suppose we should get started." The two of them went to join EDI and Brooks, who were impatiently waiting to get a crack at it.

Glyph chose that moment to float up to me. "Greetings, Commander. The casino will be hosting another gala in a few months. Shall I arrange for tickets?"

"Once was enough," I replied. "But thanks, anyway."

As Glyph drifted away, I caught James rummaging through the kitchen cupboards. "Damn, Commander," James laughed when he saw me approach. "You can't even attend a party without someone ending up dead."

"Don't let word get around," I deadpanned. "Getting out of all those party functions isn't worth the loss of life… or the paperwork."

"I hear that," James chuckled. "Now if I can just find some chow around here. You'd think a pad like this would be stocked."

"I could go for some food while we wait," Joker chimed in from a nearby sofa. "Too bad you shot the hell out of the best sushi place on the Citadel, huh?"

"CAT6 shot up the best sushi place on the Citadel," I shot back. "File your complaints with them."

"It's too bad there weren't any life-or-death encounters with fish aquariums this time," Garrus called out from the floor above. "I can hear Vega's stomach grumbling from here."

"Guys, guys," Cortez came from around the corner. "Come on! We're guests here. And it's not even Shepard's apartment. Stop turning Anderson's place upside down." To me, he said "Glad you and the team made it back okay, even if the mission ended with a hiccup."

Shaking my head, I continued wandering around the apartment. Kaidan was staring intently at the fireplace. "See anything in the flames?" I asked. "Any visions of the future?"

"Only memories of the last time I was in a casino. Did I ever tell you about my run-in with the vorcha mafia, 5000 credits and a bottle of whisky?"

Um… what? "No. I'm sure I would've remembered that," I eventually said. "You'll have to tell me about it sometime."

"Nah, it's not that good a story. Never mind."

Really? Because that sounded like either a really good or a really bad story. Hard to tell. Alas, I had other matters to attend to.

I moseyed around the ground floor for a while before going upstairs. Garrus was still standing by the art gallery, staring out the window. I had the feeling he was keeping an eye out for any hostiles who might want to take another crack at us. If that was the case, I couldn't really blame him for his paranoia.

The rest of the squad was sitting in the seating area behind the gallery. "Hell of a party!" Wrex proclaimed. "Almost as good as krogan do it."

"Oh?" I raised an eyebrow.

"Doesn't count unless the host dies at the end."

"Technically, the host _did _die," I reminded him. "Also, if that's what krogan do; remind me to decline the next invite you send me."

"You don't know what you're missing," Wrex told me. "For starters, we don't need these… clothes." He picked at his jacket distastefully. "Never thought we'd need to get dressed up to hunt down some mercs. Note to self: make it a rule to never fight wearing pajamas."

"On _that_, we can agree," I grinned.

Javik, on the other hand, had his own opinions on how the party went. "Commander, instead of infiltrating the casino using a disguise, it would have been better to hold all the primitives hostage, threaten them with death and shoot them until they gave you what you wanted. Next time, I will gladly assist."

"Investigations don't usually end in such a violent manner," I told him. "But if we do wind up tangling with CAT6 or this mystery client, and things go sideways, you may get your chance to exercise your itchy trigger finger."

He harrumphed. I ignored him.

* * *

Eventually, I went back downstairs and wandered to the back. Liara, Tali and Brooks were too engrossed in their work, but EDI noticed my arrival. "I am glad to see my physical proximity was not necessary to the success of the mission, Shepard," she said.

"Let's see what you find before we call it a win," I cautioned.

Hearing me, Brooks looked up. "Funny you should mention that. I think we found something."

Hearing that, James and Joker stopped searching the kitchen and came over. Garrus came down a moment later. Before I knew it, everyone had joined us. Miranda was the last to arrive. "Sorry I'm late. Had to step out to answer a call from my sister."

Somehow I doubted that, but I wasn't about to call her out on it. "I hadn't actually called a meeting," I replied, "but you're just in time. It sounds like we got something from the drive copies."

EDI started things off: "Though the data's root structure was erased, the logic integrity remains viable."

"EDI has an incredible talent for this stuff," Brooks said in admiration. "I know she's an AI, but even still. We found an encrypted communications from a few days ago." She looked at her console before looking at me apologetically. "Sorry. I thought it would be finished by now, but we need a little more time to crack it. Another minute, tops."

"A whole minute," Joker said in mock astonishment. "EDI here could shave that down to five seconds."

"I thought it best to allow Staff Analyst Brooks a chance to improve her decryption skills," EDI explained.

"And now you've lost your chance to show off," Joker sighed.

"Like she needs it," Brooks said. "You're the crew of the Normandy. You're _legends _to the rest of the Alliance."

"Legends can be good or bad," I pointed out. "Which are we?" **(1)**

"You're the kind that people look up to. The kind they owe their lives to."

"Then how come everyone's always shooting at us?" Wrex rumbled.

"I think it's mostly you, Wrex," Tali said a little too innocently. "The bigger the target, the bigger the… uh… target."

"You're saying I've gained weight?" Wrex scowled.

"All that roast varren leg," Miranda stage-whispered, shaking her head.

Liara at least made an attempt to be diplomatic. "It just means there's more of the legend to love."

Wrex's lips curled into a snarl as the ladies made fun of him.

"And the camaraderie, the friendship?" Brooks continued, nodding to the little sideshow that had just taken place in front of us. "I think that's your secret weapon."

"It's all just part of the job," I replied modestly.

"Wait… 'job'?" Garrus asked, pretending to be surprised. "You mean the rest of you are getting paid for this?"

"This is what happens when you spend all your time calibrating," Miranda tsked.

"And you didn't tell me."

"Did you _really_ think all that clothing came from Shepard's accounts?"

"Here we go," Brooks interrupted, before Miranda and Garrus could continue. She pulled up an inventory on the holo-display and skimmed its contents. "Wow," she added after a moment. "Those mercs who were after you? They bought a lot of weapons. Like, big ones."

She wasn't kidding. M-9 Tempest submachine guns, M-76 Revenant light machine guns, M-29 Incisor sniper rifles, frag grenades, smoke grenades, disruption drones, omni-tool generated ballistic shields… these guys weren't fooling around.

There was one item that everyone reacted to. "Mechs?" Kaidan exclaimed as the holographic image of an Atlas mech rotated before us. "What do they need _that_ kind of firepower for?"

I was more interested in how CAT6 managed to smuggle an honest-to-gosh Atlas mech onto the Citadel. Don't get me wrong, the other weapons were a big deal. But at least they could be split up amongst multiple standard-sized crates. But an Atlas? Was Khan really that good an arms smuggler? Or did he have help?

Glyph suddenly burst into the room, its holographic shell flashing in an alternating series of red and blue. "It appears this drone is preparing to rebel," Javik stated.

"Hold your fire," I hastily said, before Javik did something we would all regret. "Glyph, report."

"I have just monitored the commander's Spectre access code in use at the Citadel Archives."

Which was odd, because I hadn't used my Spectre codes. I certainly hadn't used them at the Citadel Archives because I had no idea what the Archives were or where to find them. Then I remembered using them to override the C-Sec lockdown during my escape from the Ryuusei restaurant ambush. Was it possible that CAT6 and their client had somehow copied them? "Punch it up," I ordered.

Glyph accessed the holo-pad. A partial map of the Citadel appeared, along with some kind of status display. "The archives are going into emergency lockdown," Brooks observed. "Whoever's hacking your records is there right now."

"What do we know about the place?" I wanted to know.

"The Council keeps sensitive historical information there," Garrus replied. "Real hush-hush. Even my old C-Sec clearance never got me in."

"Then we'll find our own way in," I said. "Gear up, people."

That marked the first time in my long and checkered career where a multi-species squad had to change out of formal clothes appropriate for arguing with snobs and celebutantes and into military gear designed to fighting against mercs and other hostiles. And here I thought I'd seen everything.

I insisted that everyone, with the exception of Joker, suit up for combat. Even Steve and Brooks put on a military hardsuit and grabbed some weapons. Once we were ready, we made for the elevators.

"All right," I said, "is everyone here?"

"Yep."

"Sure thing."

"_*hiss* _Indeed."

One of the three did not belong. Turning around, my eyes settled on…

…

…a volus holding out a cardboard box? "Uh… can I help you?" I asked slowly.

"Oh. That's for me," James said. "Pizza delivery. I got the munchies."

One by one, we all turned and looked at him with varying degrees of incredulity. Then, one by one, we all turned back to the volus. "_*hiss* _Double pepperoni," the volus delivery boy—a phrase I _never _thought I'd use—said matter-of-factly.

Oh for the love of… I took a deep breath—maybe two—and decided to ignore the volus delivery boy for the moment. "All right," I said to the squad, "here are the team arrangements: Team One will consist of me, EDI, Liara and Wrex—no interruptions," I added hastily, forestalling his raucous cheers. "Team Two: Miranda, James, Kaidan and Brooks. Team Three: Garrus, Tali, Javik and Steve. For those of you who don't know, Miranda, Garrus and myself are team leaders.

The way I saw it, my teams were finely honed and battle-hardened. I did not want to break any of them up or disrupt their coordination if I didn't have to. But if I left Wrex on the sidelines, I'd be denying myself three hundred kilos of biotic, combat-ready experience. Not to mention that I'd never hear the end of his whining.** (2)** I had a few reasons for bringing Brooks along. As for Steve, he had kept his firearms training and qualifications up to date. Bringing him along would ensure that all teams were at even strength, numerically speaking.

"Hang on a sec," Wrex snorted. "Are we really gonna go with 'Team One/Two/Three'?"

"The numbering system's worked just fine for us," I retorted.

"Don't you have any catchier names?"

"You got any better ideas?"

"Ahem," Wrex coughed.

"Ahem," Javik coughed.

"Ahem," Tali coughed.

"Ahem," the volus delivery guy coughed. "_*hiss* _Who's going to pay the bill?"

* * *

One benefit of an establishment like Tiberius Towers is that it boasted a small assortment of skycars for the convenience of the guests and complimentary shuttle service. Considering we were heading into a probable combat zone, the latter didn't seem that wise. Thankfully, we could rent them out for a fee that wasn't completely outrageous.

"What's the best way into the Archives?" I asked Brooks once we got going.

"_The best way?" _Brooks thought about that before transmitting her reply._ "Through the front door and past the security checkpoints, but that's not an option considering the emergency lockdown. Cargo entrances are out for the same reason. So… okay, the facility is located below the Wards. Maybe a direct breach from above for maximum surprise?"_

"I like it." I had her choose a point of entry, based on an estimation of how much ground our adversaries could have covered, and send the NavPoint to the other skycars. "Sounds like you're learning the ropes."

"_Hell," _Cortez said over the comm, _"hang out with us long enough and you'll learn ropes, knives, bombs, thresher maws…"_

"But don't hang out too long," Wrex cracked, "or pretty soon you'll be making friends with asari."

"_Or turians," _Garrus joked.

"_Or quarians," _Tali chimed in.

Liara leaned over and smacked him, a move that he only felt because she had charged up her biotics. Thankfully we arrived at our designated landing spot before things escalated beyond good-natured bickering. Everyone quickly got out of the skycars and assembled together.

"The Archives are somewhere below us," Brooks told us. "It could be pretty tricky to get in there."

"Not really," James disagreed. He held up a shaped charge and offered a feral grin. **(3)**

Normally, an explosion was the kind of thing that would draw attention. Then again, normally the Wards would be bustling with people. Normally, the local vid-cams would be online and running. And normally a Spectre wouldn't be spending his time off chasing after a mysterious figure who was trying to steal his identity. Clearly, these were peculiar times.

Wrex jumped down before the dust had settled. "Krogan first!" he shouted. "See you at the party, princesses!"

Shaking my head, I grabbed a nearby ladder. As I descended, I contacted him on the comm. "Wrex, unless you want me to bench you and have Joker babysit your ass, you'd better have the area cleared by the time I get down."

All I heard in reply was a feral growl. But he was waiting for me when I reached the bottom of the ladder. He tilted his head towards a nearby maintenance shaft. "If I have to wait for the princesses to catch up, you can crawl through the dust and dirt to scout ahead."

Translation: he reluctantly conceded that tactical considerations outweighed his eagerness to charge ahead guns blazing. Will miracles never cease? I popped the ventilation grate open and did some recon.

By the time I got back, the squad was ready and waiting. "There's a ladder about a hundred metres in," I reported. "Goes down at least six or seven floors. I want Teams Mako and Hammerhead to get off one floor down while Team Alpha gets off at the following floor. If my scans were right, we should meet up at a large split-level room."

All went according to plan. We entered the maintenance shaft and quickly jogged to the ladder I found. We went down without any interruptions and got off the ladder at the designated spots. The next grate was a little rusty, but I managed to force it open without raising too much of a ruckus and dropped down into the room my sensors had detected. EDI, Liara and Wrex were right behind me. Glancing up, I spotted Teams Two and Three on the catwalk above me. I motioned for everyone to move forward.

And that's when the laser sights centred on our torsos. "Not this again," I groaned.

"Ambush!" Wrex roared.

"Scatter and take cover!" I shouted.

Most of the squad had already done so, even before the words left my mouth. Wrex, on the other hand, was charging forward. Normally I'd be pissed off that someone supposedly under my command would run off like that. But this was a guy I'd fought alongside on several occasions. Between his biotics, his hardsuit and his muscle, Wrex was a force to be reckoned with. Besides, he had hundreds of years of combat experience under his belt. Figuring Wrex would be fine, I found a CAT6 sniper whose shields were down—courtesy of EDI—and took her out with a couple shots from my sniper rifle. Meanwhile, Liara had softened up another CAT6 soldier with her biotics. Not one to look a gift horse in the mouth, Wrex promptly gunned him down. **(4)**

"In the old days, we had at least five minutes before a mission went south!" he called out.

"Brave new world, Wrex," I replied.

"Shepard brought the full crew!" one of the CAT6 soldiers hollered.

"Box them in!" another one, presumably their leader, ordered.

I took out another two mercs before my clip went dry. Ducking down to reload, I used the opportunity to see how the other teams were doing.

To my satisfaction, they seemed to have things well in hand. Miranda had Team Mako—formerly Team Two—deploying EMPs to take out enemy shields and overload weapons. James was having the time of his life, occasionally punctuating the verdant blaze of his particle rifle with a concussive round.

Brooks was contributing to the fight—that, or putting in the effort to make it look like she was contributing. Mostly, she was laying down cover fire. From what I could tell, though, she wasn't causing any problems or proving to be a hindrance to the team.

Up on my left, Team Hammerhead—also known as Team Three—also had things under control. **(5)** Tali's drone was doing a good job of harassing the mercs and keeping them at bay. Garrus took advantage of the opportunity to put his sniper rifle to use. Javik was dispatching his targets with contemptuous ease, be it with biotics or particle beam. As for Steve, he was doing an excellent job of draining shields, chipping away at armour and even scoring the occasional kill.

The only thing that concerned me was that our progress had essentially come to a standstill. For every merc that was dropped by biotics, plasma or bullets, another one—sometimes two—took his or her place. The longer we spent fighting here, the more time CAT6's mysterious client had to wreak havoc with my Spectre codes.

But I'd have to deal with that later. For now, we had mercs to kill. Starting with the sniper who had just decloaked. Raising my sniper rifle, I opened fire. Two shots were sufficient to collapse her shields.

"Shit! They've got a krogan!" one of the aforementioned mercs belatedly realized.

Ignoring the genius, I began to line up a kill shot, only to stop when I noticed the torrent of fire coming from above. Team Mako was on the case. Deciding to let them have the fun of finishing the sniper off, I scooted forward, set another merc on fire and swiped a shotgun mod that was lying around.

Glancing up again, I realized I couldn't see Brooks and got on the comm. "Brooks, you okay?"

"Upstairs!" she hollered. "Scattering and taking cover!"

Couldn't blame her. There were _definitely _more mercs than there were at the start of this fight. Worse, I spotted a few of them starting to flank our position. If we weren't careful—

"That's enough!"

Whoever had shouted those two words sounded strangely familiar. My head snapped up… and my heart sank. Brooks was standing before me on the level above, caught in the vice grip of some hostile. He was partly in the shadows, so I couldn't get a good look at him. All I needed to know, however, was that he was holding a gun to her head. Somehow, Brooks had gotten a little too far ahead, only to get ambushed.

"Drop your weapons, or this won't end well for her," the man said.

"You bastard," Brooks spat.

Um. Yeah. Not gonna happen. In the short time since this newcomer came on the scene, several more mercs had arrived and spread out to surround all three teams—which meant we were already in a tactically unfavourable position. Putting our weapons down would give them more defenceless men and women to take hostage, kill and deprive of a well-earned sushi dinner… not necessarily in that order. Right now, our best chance of getting out of this was to hang onto our weapons while I did what I did best: put my big mouth to work.

"Drop our weapons? Really? What do you take us for, amateurs? I take it you're the one I talked to in Khan's office? Or are you some poor sap CAT6 chose to speak for them? Yeah, that's right: I know who you guys are."

"Yeah, I'm the one who you talked to earlier."

Again, that voice sounded so familiar. Eerily so. It sounded like, well… I knew what it sounded like, but that didn't make any sense. "Nice to talk to you without that ID disguiser," I said cheerfully. "Why don't you step out of the shadows and we can talk face to face? Whatever you think you're getting away with, there's nowhere you can run—nowhere you can hide—where we can't find you."

"Hide? Why?" The man shoved Brooks over the edge. Luckily, a stack of crates broke her fall, though she undoubtedly picked up more than her fair share of bruises on the way down. I could have fired, now that I had a clear shot, but the movement had brought him into the light. I looked upon his face…

…

…my God.

It was like looking into a mirror. The man… the mysterious client who'd hired CAT6 to try and kill me… the guy who had probably been trying to steal my identity… he _was _me. I mean, he was wearing a CAT6 hardsuit, sure, but he looked _exactly like me!_

As I stared in shock, my ersatz double glared at me. "I'm Commander Shepard," he declared. "I _never _hide!"

* * *

To this day, I don't know how long I would have stood there staring at that man who had my voice. My face. The man who was trying to steal my identity and life. How was I supposed to feel? Shocked? Outraged? Violated?

In the end, it was Wrex who took it in stride. "Uh huh," he said matter-of-factly. "So that's how it's going to be."

"Looks like," I said, doing my best to match his nonchalance. "So, you're Commander Shepard? 'Cuz… I thought you'd be taller."

The… other… me leapt down, landing in the superhero—or supervillain—pose that you always saw in the vid. You know, the one that would be murder on the knees without adequate support and biotic field generators. "Seriously, who are you?" I wanted to know.

"You weren't the only Shepard Cerberus brought back to life," the other me spat, "but at least one of us will finally do something with it."

"Okay. Little cryptic, but I can work with that. Where did you come from?"

"The same DNA as you."

"So, like, an evil twin? Because Mom and Dad would've told me if I had a long-lost brother."

"No, more like a clone," Miranda replied.

I spun around. "Wait. During the Reaper War, when we were assaulting Cerberus HQ… you said the Lazarus Project made a clone of me. Are you telling me you were serious?"

"Have you ever known me not to be?"

"Well, I thought you were developing a sense of humour. Baby steps, I know, but still." Turning back to my double, I raised an eyebrow. "So… you're the clone?"

"Cerberus spared no expense resurrecting you," my clone confirmed. "With me… I was created for spare parts in case you needed another arm or a heart or a lung."

Yeah, Miranda did say something about his primary purpose being emergency organ harvesting. So maybe I should've known she wasn't joking. "Where have you been this whole time?" I asked.

"In a coma… until I woke up six months ago. While you were under the knife at Huerta Memorial Hospital, I was learning to be human. Amazing what a person can do with enough neural implants."

"If you're really me, then we're on the same team," I said.

"We're not even in the same league," my clone sneered.

"Who sent you? Was it Cerberus? Someone following one last order from the Illusive Man?"

"No. He abandoned me—all of them abandoned me—when he had what he wanted… _you_."

"Then why are you trying to kill us?" James burst out.

"Because I don't have his memories. Even the best neural implants can only go so far. I'd never fool my supposed friends. The ones who abandoned their duty to join the cult of Shepard."

'Supposed friends'? 'Cult of Shepard'? Call me crazy, but my clone seemed to have a bit of a chip on his shoulder. **(6)** "I don't know about any 'Cult of Shepard'," I quipped. "Never got that trademarked. Besides, do you have any idea how hard it is to get these jokers to listen to me? No respect, I tell you. No reverence. They won't even kneel. Come on, guys," I said to my squadmates in mock seriousness. "Kneel before me. Kneel, damn it." **(7)**

"You're not paying us enough," Garrus replied. "In fact, we just established that you're not paying us at all."

"Though we do respect you more than this pale imitation of the real thing," Miranda added. She looked at my clone, pointedly turning her nose up.

"I'm the real thing perfected," my clone insisted. "I'm you without the wear and tear, Shepard. The doubts. The failures. I'm the lone wolf you were always meant to be, without the emotional baggage holding me back."

Wow. If there was any indication that this guy was nothing like me, despite the looks and DNA, that was it. No doubts? No failures? Those things drove me to do better, to make up for all the people I let down or couldn't save. And I wasn't sure about that last part. My clone certainly seemed to have _plenty_ of emotional baggage.

"No one will ever believe you're Shepard," Wrex said flatly.

"They will when I'm flying his ship."

I immediately got on the comm. "This is Shepard! Initiate Normandy lockdown! Transmitting command codes now!" Activating my omni-tool, I pulled up the command codes and sent them to Traynor.

My clone's omni-tool lit up. He held it up between us, sweeping from side to side, before analyzing the readout. "Good idea," he smirked. "Too bad the signal was blocked. Now it's my turn. Traynor, this is Shepard. Prep the Normandy for emergency departure. We're leaving. I'm sending the command codes now." He tapped his omni-tool, sending the command codes he'd just intercepted from me—the same way he intercepted my Spectre access codes earlier. God damn it!

"_Acknowledged," _I heard her reply. _"We'll get underway."_

"It'll be a cold day in hell before someone steals my ship," I declared.

"It's not stealing if I'm you," my clone shrugged.

Turning around, he started to walk away. "Execute them," he told the mercs. "The cult of Shepard ends today."

That's when I raised my sniper rifle and fired. The bullet went right through the cable holding up an overhead model of the Citadel, which plunged to the ground and shattered.

Taking advantage of the confusion, we all took cover and began firing at the mercs. "We still got everyone?" I asked as I opened fire on a CAT6 soldier, only to have the shot ricochet off his shield.

"Affirmative," Miranda replied, matter-of-fact as always. "Taking cover and returning fire."

"We're still on the balcony!" Tali replied from the other side.

"I'm okay, too!" Brooks hollered.

"Where's everyone else?" I wanted to know.

"With Team Mako," Cortez reported.

"On high ground with a sniper rifle," Garrus crowed. "Doesn't get any better than this!"

"Having a little party up here!" Kaidan shouted. "With bullets!"

"These primitives will make good sport!" Javik said.

"Terminating hostiles," EDI said.

"If we go down, at least we go down together!" Liara cried out.

"One big happy ass-kicking family!" James howled. "Whoo! You see that shot, Brooks? That's how legends do it."

"If I wasn't covering my eyes, I'd be impressed," Brooks promised.

I couldn't exactly spare the time to see how everyone was doing, but the banter suggested Teams Mako and Hammerhead—still couldn't get used to those names—were doing fine. So I returned my attention to the merc with the shield. Signalling to Liara, I had her pull away said shield with a singularity. Then I launched an EMP, which EDI promptly followed with a burst of plasma. The resulting explosion sent him flying into the wall. Before he could recover, I finished him off with a headshot.

Meanwhile, Wrex was busy being a one-krogan distraction of lethal proportions. Spotting a merc who was desperately doing his best to run away—and thus completely ignoring his surroundings—I quickly reloaded, lined up a shot and pulled the trigger. Seeing that his target was no longer amongst the living, Wrex immediately turned towards another merc, one who suddenly found himself without shields after I dropped an EMP on his head. Wrex finished him off with a point-blank shot to the head. I almost felt sorry for the guy. Almost.

"All right, everyone," Wrex hollered. "Uncle Urdnot is back in town, and he brought the boom!"

"Is that a catchphrase or something, Wrex?" I shouted above the din.

"Thought I'd try it out, see what you think."

"Not bad," I replied.

Tali wasn't quite so generous. "Try again!"

Motioning to EDI and Liara, I headed for the right side of the room. Most of the hostiles seemed to be loitering around the periphery, which meant they could easily flank us if we stayed put. Spotting another merc, I hit him with an EMP. Liara was next with her biotics. EDI threw in another fireball. And Wrex just ran right over him. The merc might not be dead, but he was certainly out of the fight.

"Listen up, Rapier Squad," one of the other mercs shouted, "orders are to kill the other Shepard's crew! No messing around this time!"

You mean they were 'messing around' before? I would say that explained their string of failures thus far, but I wouldn't want to be cocky.

"But they've got a krogan, Captain," someone protested. "Why don't we have a krogan?"

"Stow it, Lieutenant!"

Thanks to their complete lack of comm discipline, Wrex—and everyone else—heard that exchange. "Wouldn't want to be you, princesses!" he laughed, leaping over a rail and charging at the hapless mercs. Reaching over, he picked one up with his left arm, looked at him contemptuously, and tossed him into the centre of the room. EDI, Liara and I finished him off while Wrex entertained himself with the other merc.

"Shit, that's a Prothean over there!" I heard from overhead. I spared a glance upwards, just in time to see Garrus and Tali fry a merc's shields.

"And that's a future corpse over there," Javik declared, using his biotics to haul the merc up into the air, where he wriggled helplessly before suddenly being driven all the way to the floor below. He looked at his handiwork and nodded in satisfaction.

One of his compatriots looked at the broken body of his companion, then back up at Team Hammerhead. "I think that turian they've got is Archangel!" he said in awe. "How the hell are we going to kill him?"

The question was never answered, as Steve took him out with a burst of gunfire. It's always the quiet ones…

"We're clear!" Miranda called out.

"Confirmed," Garrus said. "Now where'd the other you go?"

"He's pushing into the archives," I replied. "Everyone reload and grab spare clips from the mercs. Stay in your groups. We move out in thirty seconds."

Not content with merely grabbing thermal clips, I took the opportunity to swipe a shotgun mod, help myself to some medi-gel, download a couple thousand credits from an open terminal and pick up a few grenades. When I was satisfied I had grabbed everything I could reasonably lay my hands on, I issued my orders. "Team Mako, you're on point."

"Right," Brooks said for the team. "What's a Mako?"

"Something we could use right about now," Liara fretted.

"You know we could never get it to fit through those doors," I reminded her. "Team Hammerhead, cover the flank!"

"Got it," Steve confirmed. "And the Mako's got nothing on the Hammerhead."

"Team Alpha, we'll act as a mobile reserve and back up whichever team needs a hand. We don't know how many mercs CAT6 sent so…" I trailed off as a thought struck me. Bending down by the closest merc, I began fiddling with his helmet. "Trying to find the comm frequency they're using," I explained.

"So we can listen in," Miranda nodded.

"Exactly."

It didn't take long before I cracked the encryption. "Got it," I announced. "Let's move out."

* * *

After the shocking revelation of how thoroughly someone was trying to steal my identity, and the not-so-shocking attempt by CAT6 to kill me, it was nice to be greeted by the calm soothing voice of a VI: _"Welcome to the Citadel Archives. All visitors must receive Council permission to enter. Access to the research alcoves is limited to regular business hours. Please see an authorized archivist for assistance."_

Right. I was gonna just turn around, wade past the bodies of all those mercs, set up a meeting with the Citadel Council, get that permission and come back to the Archives. During regular business hours. I'm sure CAT6 and my clone would be willing to wait.

Ignoring the VI, I pressed ahead. After looting a nearby terminal for credits, picking up some medi-gel and looting a nearby terminal for credits. Because I'm a rebel like that. **(8)**

We stepped into the next room and… slowed down. Wrex put it best: "Huh. Big place."

Imagine a huge warehouse space, lined with catwalks and light panels. The walls seemed to have row after row of circles. Some kind of modern art, perhaps? After the average-sized rooms and corridors we'd just come from, the contrast was dramatic.

"Shepard," Tali asked, "what do you think your clone is looking for in here?"

Hard to say, I had to admit. All I knew about him was that he was trying to steal my ID, trying to eliminate anyone who knew me well enough to spot an imposter and trying to steal my ship. Well, that and he really didn't like me. That didn't exactly narrow things down.

Oh God. If my clone was really intent on _killing _anyone who knew me, he could go after anyone. Mom. Dad. Ellie. Anderson. Captain Awesome. Morgan. If he laid a finger on them…

"At this point, anything's possible," I finally replied.

Apparently I was doing a good job of hiding my anguish and turmoil, because the squad was following a completely different train of thought. "You mean, like finding out you have a clone?" Garrus asked.

"I don't want to talk about it," I growled.

"Of course," Miranda nodded sympathetically. "At least not until we have a couple drinks first."

Might need more than a few, in my case. Thanks to my metabolism and the various enhancements I had over the years, I had a pretty high tolerance. But I digress.

Once again, it was Wrex who got straight to the point: "How're we gonna find anything in this place?"

I'd been thinking about that and I had an idea. "Glyph?"

Liara's drone obligingly materialized. "Yes, Commander?"

"Track the target. Give me updates on his location."

"What is the nature of the target?"

"He looks like me."

"Then I have found the target."

Okay. I kinda walked into that one. The squad felt the same way, judging by the chorus of snickers and snorts I heard behind me. "No, Glyph," I sighed, "it's _another _me. A clone, to be exact. Now get going."

"At once, Commander."

As Glyph sped off, I signalled for the various teams to split up and amongst the different catwalks to cover more ground. Several minutes passed. The only sounds I heard were the humming of distant machinery and our footsteps.

And then it all came crashing down. "There they are! The other Shepard's still alive!"

Looking up, I saw a platform descend towards me. It was carrying four mercs, all of whom opened fire. As we ducked for cover, I heard my clone's reply in my earpiece: _"Take him down! I need more time to find the vault."_

To their credit, the mercs tried to carry out my clone's orders. The problem was that there were twelve of us and only four of them. Factor in our collective combat experience and, well, let's say the mercs didn't last very long.

"If everyone's okay, we need to get going," I said once the last merc dropped.

"Not so fast, Team Alpha," Garrus called out. "You're about to hit a dead end. Team Mako can head up a stairway to the left and follow us deeper into the Archives. Shepard, your team may have to double back and follow us."

"Maybe not," Tali said. "Shepard, step on that platform—the ones the mercs used. I think I can access the controls from here and lower you down."

I wasn't sure where she was going with this, but I decided to play along. As we stepped on the platform, the VI politely warned us of detecting intruders and suggested we head for the emergency exits. Too little too late, if you asked me.

Tali worked her magic and the platform shuddered to life. Within seconds, it brought us down to the floor below. We hadn't even stepped off when an open-ended, shuttle-sized cylinder slid to a stop in front of us. Other than a few glass cases, it was empty. A flicker of light shimmered around it as protective biotic screens shut down. _"Now, if you get into the vault," _Brooks said over the comm,_ "we can move you across."_

Now the pattern of circles I saw earlier made sense. There must have been _thousands _of these vaults in here. I felt a brief, irrational, flare of panic as I imagined myself locked up somewhere in the Archives. Trapped, with no one knowing where I was or how to find me. Telling myself to get a grip, I led EDI, Liara and Wrex into the vault.

"_Accessing Vault T91," _the VI announced before the vault took us away.

I looked around curiously, but it soon became clear that there was nothing to see outside but poorly-lit tunnels. So I turned my attention to the closest display case. All it held was a physical hard copy of the first contract signed between Hahne-Kedar and the Alliance. Noteworthy from a historical perspective, but nothing that would be useful at the moment.

"Check this out, Shepard," Wrex said.

"What've you got?" I asked.

"A gun dating all the way back to the First Contact War. Year 2157."

"Let me see." Wrex shuffled aside so I could take a closer look. "Well I'll be," I said in surprise. "It's an M-7 Lancer."

"Accessing historical files," EDI said. "M-7 Lancer. First introduced during the First Contact War. Briefly sold to the Alliance throughout 2158 before being discontinued. Inspired the Lancer line of assault rifles made by Hahne-Kedar."

I remembered the Lancers. Mostly I remembered looting, stockpiling and selling them to save up for better guns during my hunt for Saren. Or occasionally melting them down and converting them into omni-gel. Those were the days…

"I believe the M-7 Lancer is considered quite the collector's item amongst gun enthusiasts," Liara said. "Most of them were stripped down and destroyed. To find an original M-7 Lancer is considered a rare find indeed."

"I don't know about 'original," I said, having just finished my inspection. "Looks like this Lancer has been modified. According to the blurb here, an anonymous master weaponsmith refurbished this gun so it would be compatible with modern assault rifle technology."

"Does that include thermal clips?" Wrex asked.

I shook my head. "This baby is really old-school. It'll keep firing until it overheats."

Wrex shook his head. "You mean if you fire it too long, the damn thing'll lock up until it has a chance to vent the excess heat. Gotta tell you: I don't miss those days."

"Neither do I," I admitted. Not being able to fire more than one shot from a sniper rifle because it would instantly overheat was a pain in the ass. "On the upside, you'll never need to hunt for ammo. Talk to Garrus and James about how much they love their particle rifles. Plus, if these specs are right, it'll deal more damage than Elkoss Combine's M-8 Avenger. And it'll teach newbies not to spray and pray." **(9)**

"I assume you're going to take it," Liara guessed.

"You assume correctly," I grinned, grabbing the rifle from the display case.

"You realize you are technically stealing property from the Citadel Archives."

"I won't tell if you won't."

Before we could debate this any further, the vault slowed down to a stop. Glyph found us as we stepped out. "Commander, the other you is searching for something 200 metres ahead."

He didn't have too much a lead, then. "Got it," I said.

By that point, Teams Mako and Hammerhead had joined us. "I never thought the day would come where I'd actually be fighting your _clone_," Garrus said. "Pretty crazy, even by our standards."

"A shame, really," Javik mused. "A clone would be most useful. If there is a task you don't wish to do, Commander, let the clone handle it."

"Like a personal butler?" Brooks piped up.

"You make a good sales pitch, Buggy," James nodded.

"I don't want to talk about it," I bit out, feeling a sudden surge of irritation.

"Right, right," Wrex said brightly. "So let your clone do it."

Maybe it was a good sign that no one was fazed by the existence of my clone. Still, I found myself wishing they'd stop yakking about it all the time. In the end, I decided to have Glyph lead me towards the clone. Sure enough, the squad fell in line and followed me as we went along a catwalk, up a flight of stairs, hopped onto one of the archive vaults and went forward.

We had almost reached the end of the vault when we heard someone yell out "Contact!" Given that I didn't recognize the voice, it was safe to assume that CAT6 had found us. The ensuing gunfire helped.

So did the clone, who we could hear thanks to our tap into their communications: _"Dagger Squad! I need more time to reach the vault! Keep Shepard off my back or I'll have your head!"_

The irony being that if they couldn't keep me from reaching my clone, they'd be too busy being dead to worry about anything—or anyone—else.

"The other Shepard sounds like a real asshole!" Steve observed.

"I'd quit if he was my commander," Brooks chimed in.

"Agreed," I said. "Let's make them regret the day they ever signed up with him. Open fire!"

Wrex just ran towards the next piece of cover, correctly figuring that a charging krogan would be a very convincing distraction. While they were panicking, EDI and Liara worked together to fry the first merc's shields. Miranda and Kaidan did something similar, followed shortly by Garrus and Javik.

While the rest of my squad opened fire on those three mercs, I checked my HUD briefly before activating my cloak and creeping forward. Sure enough, there was a sniper crouched behind a stack of crates. I quickly took him out with a few sniper rounds.

"_Garrus to Shepard,"_ I heard over the comm. I briefly wondered why he chose that method of communication before realizing that he didn't want to raise his voice over the clamor of gunfire and explosions—not to mention alerting the mercs to his plan. _"Team Hammerhead is on your right. We'll try to flank them!"_

"_Team Mako will skirt around the left and hit them on that side!" _Miranda said.

"Do it," I approved. Realizing my thermal clip was almost spent, I quickly reloaded. "Team Alpha: hold your ground."

Raising my sniper rifle, I found another merc and took him out. EDI and Liara softened up another merc by draining his shields, opening the way for a devastating point-blank shot from Wrex. A third merc tried to sneak up on Wrex while he was distracted, only to run right into my EMP. Before he could react, I fired the last shot from my sniper rifle, ejected the clip, reloaded and fired again. I paused long enough to see him drop, then started to scan for another target.

Only I couldn't find one. "Clear!" I reported after a few more seconds.

"_Clear!" _Miranda said. _"Team Mako advancing!"_

"_Clear!" _Garrus echoed. _"Team Hammerhead moving ahead! Catch you on the other side!"_

I didn't follow the other teams immediately; as I was too busy scrounging for thermal clips. Once I was restocked, I hopped onto another vault and ran towards the catwalk at the far end of the room in an effort to catch up to the other teams. We were halfway along the vault when we ran into another pair of mercs. We mowed them down before they even knew what hit them and hopped onto the catwalk. We paused again to scoop up a few more thermal clips—and a medkit that was inexplicably lying around.

"_Team Mako to all teams!" _Miranda suddenly shouted over the comm. _"CAT6 has us pinned down. We could use some help."_

"_Team Hammerhead has also engaged the enemy," _Garrus replied. _"Shepard?"_

"Hang on," I replied. "Team Alpha is on the way. EDI, Liara, Wrex: you heard Miranda. Let's move!"

Quickly consulting my HUD, I turned left and ran. Once I reached the end of the catwalk, I paused to survey the scene. Miranda, James, Kaidan and Brooks had taken refuge behind a bunch of crates, which had conveniently been arranged in a rough circle. Mercs were all around them, slowly closing the noose. _"We've got Shepard's squad surrounded," _I heard one of them report, mistaking Team Mako for my entire squad.

"_Eliminate them," _my clone replied. _"I need more time!"_

Little did the mercs know that my team was right behind them. Not to mention we were above them. And they were so focused on Team Mako that they had no idea we were on the scene. I quickly assigned targets to EDI, Liara and Wrex and set a countdown timer. Three… two… one…

EDI and I deployed EMPs while Liara summoned her biotics. Wrex conceded to the reality of firing at long range, switched to his assault rifle and opened up. Team Mako was quick to realize what was happening and responded with a flurry of biotics. The resulting explosions were still echoing when we switched back to conventional weapons and took the mercs out. I quickly located the closest stairs and went down to join Team Mako, taking out one more merc along the way. "Miranda, report," I said when I arrived.

She never got a chance to reply, as Team Hammerhead suddenly came onto the scene. "Mercs!" Garrus yelled. "Lots of them! Right on our heels!"

"Go!" I shouted, pointing to a nearby ladder. "I'll cover you!" I emptied the rest of my clip into the closest merc, dropped an EMP on the next one, ducked down to reload and emptied another clip. Two more mercs went down.

Trouble was, there were at least a dozen more mercs behind them. Most of them opened fire on my team, but some of them fired over our heads—presumably trying to score hits on the other teams.

"Hey!" Tali yelled indignantly, confirming my suspicions. "That's cheating! We're on a ladder!"

"Never a crate to hide behind when you need one!" Kaidan howled.

"Team Alpha, we need to give the others more time. EDI and Liara, cover the left. Wrex, you're with me. No charging off on your own this time."

We kept the mercs at bay with biotics, plasma, bullets and other nasty surprises. But for every merc that fell, two more seemed to take their place. I was starting to wonder how long we could hold out when Miranda contacted me. _"Team Alpha: we're at the top."_

"Copy that," I replied. "EDI, Liara, Wrex: fall back and get up the ladder. Move!"

One by one, they disengaged and retreated. Switching to my submachine gun, I slowly edged back. I wasn't really concerned with scoring kills at the moment. Now, it was more about laying down cover fire and stalling for time. I snapped off shots, dodged return fire and darted from crate to crate, desperately trying to survive a few more seconds. Before long, I found myself next to the ladder. My one way out. But there was no way I could safely climb. Not with twenty-odd mercs all around me.

"Wait!" I suddenly called out. "I surrender!"

It took a few seconds, but the gunfire gradually petered out. Slowly, making sure I didn't make any sudden moves, I crouched and put my submachine gun on the ground. Carefully reaching over my shoulder, I took my sniper rifle and laid it down. Then, ever so slowly, I stood back up.

"You realize the boss wants you dead, right?" one of the mercs asked.

I nodded. "Yeah, I know. Can I say a few words first?"

"Sure."

My lips curled up into a sardonic grin. "Look up."

One of the mercs complied. "Oh shi—"

The rest of his words were drowned out by a torrent of gunfire as the rest of my squad opened fire. The bullets rained down on the mercs, cutting them down where they stood and ripping them to shreds. Turning around, I picked up my weapons and quickly made my way up the ladder.

Miranda was peering down at all the dead mercs when I reached the top. "I don't know," she smirked. "Are you sure you got them all?"

"That's why I love hanging out with you guys!" Wrex said cheerfully. "Why shoot something once when you can shoot it forty-six more times?"

"The… other me can't be far," I interrupted. "Keep up the pressure and we'll try to surround him. Let's move."

* * *

_(1): Despite all his accomplishments and successes, Shepard consistently failed to appreciate the impression he left on everyone who met him or the reputation he had earned._

_(2): By his own estimation, Wrex's weight during this incident was approximately 362.9 kilograms or 800 pounds. He assured me that he would not 'whine' at the prospect of being left out of combat. Based on my own personal experience, however, I find myself inclined to side with Shepard's assessment._

_(3): Both Garrus and Wrex claimed credit for this particular acquisition. In truth, Wrex acquired the device and explosives. Garrus, however, determined that the detonator would be insufficient and bought a suitable replacement. Regardless, the successful breach forced C-Sec to thoroughly revise the security arrangements for the Archives._

_(4): A human proverb dissuading one from questioning or finding fault with a gift. The saying originates from the practice of inspecting the teeth of Earth horses. Since they change over time, checking the teeth would be one way of verifying the horses' age. However, such an examination would demonstrate mistrust or doubt towards the giver._

_(5): After entertaining various suggestions, Shepard ultimately went with Team Mako—proposed by James Vega after the M-35 Mako that he admired so much. Not to be outdone, Steven Cortez promptly suggested Team Hammerhead for his infantry fighting vehicle of choice—the M-44 Hammerhead. Shepard chose the designation of Team Alpha for 'alpha predator,' because he refused to name his team after the only other infantry fighting vehicle that had seen service with the Alliance—the M-29 Grizzly._

_(6): A human idiom meaning to hold a grudge, grievance or otherwise deeply held conviction. Alternatively, it can refer to someone with an overly inflated opinion of oneself. Either way, the individual in question is understood to be easily provoked. It appears to originate from the right of Royal Navy Dockyards shipwrights to take home a daily allowance of timber. Due to the privilege being abused and taxpayers being made to bear the brunt of lost timber for warship repair and construction, the privilege was reduced to carrying bundles under their arms, instead of on their shoulders. That custom underwent some change in the 19__th__ century. If a pair of North American boys desired to fight, one would place a chip on the shoulder of the other, who would challenge him to knock it off at his peril. Readers may understandably be confused by the convoluted origins of this saying._

_(7): An allusion to the quote 'Kneel before Zod,' from the antagonist of the same name in the 1980 human vid: Superman 2._

_(8): Lest any reader question his priorities, I should mention that Shepard checked the area for hostiles and only scavenged items of interest along the most direct route from the squad to the door._

_(9): A derisive human term for firing an automatic weapon in long bursts without any effort made to aim properly or accurately. The practice is often observed amongst overly enthusiastic or poorly trained individuals._


	5. No Shooting in the Library

**A Hero by Any Other Name**

**Chapter 5: No Shooting in the Library**

As we chased after my clone—a concept I still found it hard to wrap my head around—it was hard to ignore how much history was stored in the Citadel Archives. Even Wrex slowed down for a moment before shaking his head and picking up the pace. "Think about all the history stored in this place," he said as he caught up with me. "Must stretch back thousands of years."

"Under different circumstances, I'd love to stroll through the Archives and play tourist," I admitted. "Unfortunately, we've got to catch up to the… other me." Somehow, I had trouble bringing myself to say the word 'clone' out loud. "I just wonder what he's looking for in here."

"_Year 2157 CE," _a VI suddenly announced, interrupting our musings. **(1) ** _"First Contact War—turian interrogation. Vault T91."_

Pretty sure it wasn't that. Though I was open to being pleasantly surprised.

We'd been gradually moving closer to a holo-display that showed two turians standing over a human. I don't know whether it had been triggered by our movement or whether it was on a continuous loop, but the display suddenly came to life. Also, the clone was not there. Guess he had better things to do. Or find.

"_Sir, we captured this human in the occupation of Shanxi," _one of the turians in the holo-display said.

"_A human," _the second turian said darkly. _"You're the first I've met."_

"_And you're the first bird I've met," _the human spat.

While the two of them glared at each other, the first turian cleared his throat._ "It was armed with this weapon, sir." _He held out an old pistol.

Not knowing how long this vid-clip might last, and cognizant of the fact that we had a clone to catch, I silently led the squad away. _"How primitive," _we heard the second turian say in a dismissive tone. _"Your kind expects to win a war with _this_?"_

"_A bullet is a bullet," _the human replied.

"_Your kind has so much to learn. When we conquer your Earth, I look forward to teaching you."_

"First time my people met yours, Shepard," Garrus cracked. "Naturally, bullets were involved."

Yeah. Not exactly a shining moment in galactic diplomacy. Historically significant, sure. First contact between humanity and an alien—that is, non-human—species was certainly a big deal, and that was before you considered that it had one of the most significant impacts in galactic history. But to say things could've gone a lot better would be a massive understatement. "Thankfully, we've moved on since then," I replied. "Speaking of moving…"

There were two doors out of here—one in front of us, and one to the far left of the room. I chose the former. Stepping through, I found myself in a large corridor with another door across from me and a ramp to my left leading down.

"We're gonna have to cover more ground," I decided. "Team Mako, go back into the room we just came from and take the other door. "Team Hammerhead, check out the door across the corridor. Team Alpha, we're going down the ramp. Stay in contact, people."

Taking a left turn, we went down a ramp and entered section 3 AR 028. At least, that's what the big sign on the wall said. There were two holo-displays in the first room. The first one showed a snarling krogan, a tense asari and a cowering salarian. No, this was not some kind of generalization over racial stereotypes—just the first impression I got from their body posture.

"_Year 700 CE," _the VI helpfully informed us. _"Krogan Rebellions—attack on Council. Vault K306. This is the only visual record of krogan overlord Kredak's attack on the Council. Audio follows."_

'Audio follows.' In other words, we could let the recording play in the background while we continued our search without fear of missing anything. Because priorities were a thing.

"_I've heard enough," _a deep voice, presumably Kredak's, growled. _"If the krogan hadn't taken on the rachni, you would all be at their mercy. You won't give us what we deserve, so you force us to take it. We will never leave the planet of Lusia, no matter how much the asari cry!"_

"_Ambassador Kredak," _a distinctly salarian voice said, _"you only weaken your case with this show of violence!"_

"_Wrong, salarian. Now our case is finally strong. Negotiations are over. Rawr!"_

At the time of the Krogan Rebellions, the only Council members were the asari and the salarians. So that explained why there were no turians in that display. It was interesting how the VI called the krogan a warlord when the salarian addressed him as 'ambassador'. Maybe Kredak had more than one title, or maybe this was a case of historical revisionism. Either way, I didn't have time for this.

I did have time to note how Wrex was doing. He seemed subdued, a far cry from the bloodthirsty glee that had put a bounce in his step earlier. I couldn't blame him, though. We all knew how this would end.

The other holo-display seemed to have a glitch, which was confirmed by the VI: _"Malfunction detected. Please contact maintenance."_

We ignored the request, choosing instead to contact the mercs who had the misfortune of stepping out in front of us. And by contact I mean EDI zapped all of them with an EMP, Liara hit them with her biotics, I lit them up with a fireball and Wrex finished them off with a few short bursts from his assault rifle. The mercs dropped to the ground before I even realized that the back of my neck was tingling.

"Come on," Wrex urged. "Let's see if there are any more of them."

Maybe he wanted to drown the uncomfortable memory of the Krogan Rebellions in blood. Maybe he was just looking for the next good fight. Either way, I found myself wanting to humour him. "Lead the way, Wrex," I said.

We ran down the ramp, guns at the ready, taking another left into some kind of large office space full of desks and computers. I could see some catwalks above us running around the perimeter of the room… and a fair number of mercs milling about. The back of my neck began tingling again as they turned towards us and raised their weapons.

Aw, crap.

As we scrambled for cover, Garrus contacted us. _"This is Hammerhead. Enemy contact ahead, Shepard! We'll draw their fire!"_

"They're above us!" one of the mercs shouted, which told me where Team Hammerhead was.

"Behind us, too!" another merc yelled, which told me they had probably seen us.

"And they've still got the krogan!" a third merc cried out, which told me they had _definitely _seen us.

"Shit!"

"Someone kill him!"

Wrex laughed heartily. "Someone can try!"

They did try. Bullets flew our way. Some of them missed. The rest bounced off Wrex's biotic barriers. I never realized until now how much I missed having a big, bad-ass, biotic-powered meat shield to hide behind. Still, I couldn't just sit back and do nothing. Wrex could only last so long before he would start taking damage. Besides, I had to have some fun. So I set the closest mercs on fire. EDI and Liara threw in some EMPs and biotics, then we concentrated our fire and finished him off.

"_Intruders detected. Please locate the nearest emergency exit."_

In the distance, I could see another holo-display. What interested me more was the intruder creeping around that side. Wrex was already firing at the merc when EDI and Liara joined in, collapsing the poor guy's shields. I just fired my sniper rifle. One shot, one kill.

A bullet ricocheted off _my _shields a second later. Based on the damage, it was a high-velocity round. My keen military mind considered that finding carefully and came to a logical conclusion: "Sniper! Take cover!"

Everyone scattered, found somewhere to hide and started looking for the sniper. Turned out, there were two of them, trying to hit us from the catwalk. Luckily for us, Team Mako was up there too. A flurry of crackles and explosions told me Miranda and Kaidan were making short work of their shields. One of the snipers flew back like he'd been punched by an invisible fist—or a concussive round from James. And I was sure Brooks was pitching in where she could.

On the other side, Hammerhead was dealing with a couple more snipers, making sure they couldn't get any tactical advantage over us. Which meant: "Teams Mako and Hammerhead: keep the catwalks clear. Team Alpha, the ground floor is ours."

"Sounds good," Wrex growled. "Let's start with the mercs dead ahead. Emphasis on 'dead'."

Actually, they were at my three o'clock. They were only dead ahead from Wrex's point of view. But why quibble when there were mercs to kill? "Wrex, you read my mind," I grinned. "See that cubicle up ahead? Cut around it and hit them from the left. The rest of us will go around the desk—the one that's on fire—and hit them on the right."

My plan worked like a charm. The mercs were so worried about the rampaging krogan; they didn't even notice us until we'd stripped them of their shields. "They've got us surrounded," one of them yelled. "Captain, what are we going to do?"

The captain went down before he could give us a response. His underling soon followed.

"_This is almost unfair!"_ Tali said lightly. Apparently Team Hammerhead was also having a relatively easy time. _"Should we give them a chance?" _**(2)**

"_Speak for yourself, please,"_ Brooks begged plaintively. _"I'm not even a field agent!"_

Liara felt the need to reassure her. "Just follow Shepard's lead: let the rest of us do the heavy lifting!"

Or maybe she felt the need to have some fun at my expense. **(3)**

"_Touché, T'Soni!"_ Garrus called out.

"You think all you comedians could start hitting something?" I growled.

That last bit was starting to be a little tricky. Most of the remaining mercs were starting to figure out that they were outmatched and were trying to hide behind cover. Or smoke grenades. Or they were hiding in plain sight using personal cloaks, which I discovered when I literally ran one over. Someone wasn't paying attention to her surroundings. The impact only caused a momentary flicker as the cloak was disrupted, but that was enough for us to bombard the sucker with EMPs, biotics, plasma and bullets.

"_I think we got them all,"_ Brooks called out. _"Or, I mean, the rest of you did."_

"Or the krogan did," Wrex boasted.

"Hammerhead and Mako, stock up on ammo and keep pushing ahead," I instructed. "Team Alpha will do the same from down here."

As EDI, Liara, Wrex and I reloaded our weapons and rummaged for thermal clips, the holo-display I noticed earlier began playing. _"Year 1896 CE. Removal of illegal AIs. Vault C940. _

"_These are the last of the AIs on the Citadel," _a turian said. He and his companions—an asari and a salarian—had their weapons trained on a trio of mechs.

"_This termination action is unlawful," _one of the mechs protested. _"Why do you continue when our appeal has not been heard?"_

"_Keep quiet!" _the turian snapped. _"You know that the Council will never overturn its own edict."_

"_Standing by for your go, sir," _the salarian said.

"_Do not terminate us."_

"_Go."_

The mechs were destroyed. EDI shook her head. I couldn't blame her. The Citadel Council had banned AIs for several hundred years. When the quarians accidentally created the geth—and were exiled after trying to destroy their creations—the Council refused them aid and stripped them of their embassy. When the Alliance tried to catch up to the other Citadel races by conducting AI research—and got caught—they were heavily fined and sanctioned. To this day, AIs were still technically illegal. At the very least they were heavily restricted. That might seem unjust, given the contributions made by EDI and the geth during the Reaper War, but it was the reality nonetheless. All I could do was pat her shoulder sympathetically before nodding my head towards the exit. We silently left the office, intruder alarms blaring in the background.

* * *

"Heads up! They're coming this way!"

"Let's get out of here!"

Okay. That response I wasn't expecting. We had only taken twenty steps—thirty, tops—before running into another pair of mercs. Guess they decided that two-on-one odds were pretty bad, especially after so many of their buddies had been taken out. Problem was, if we let them go, they could tell all their pals and come back in force. So… we had to stop them. Permanently.

Then we searched the area. I know, I know—freaking clone's trying to steal my identity and I'm taking a break from chasing after him. Thing is, if we ran off half-cocked without clearing the area, we were just asking for CAT6 to come and hit us from behind. So yeah, maybe I was scooping up thermal clips, swiping medi-gel and listening to holo-displays. But I was also keeping a wary eye out for mercs, drones and that giant mech that I knew was hiding around here somewhere.

Besides, only one of the holo-displays in this room was working anyway: _"Year 2183 CE. Battle of the Citadel—geth dreadnought attack. Vault X5."_

A deeper male voice took over with what sounded like a voiceover: _"In the opening minutes of the attack, you'll see that Zakera Ward is almost completely destroyed—"_

"_Interrupting," _the VI interjected. _"Spectre status recognized: Commander Charles Shepard. The following information is classified."_

The male voice came back with the classified version of events: _"The unknown aggressor is suspected to be a Reaper, aided in its attack on the Citadel by rogue Spectre Saren Arterius. The Reaper—designated Sovereign—is destroyed by the Systems Alliance Fifth Fleet."_

All right, then. Enough playtime. We couldn't really justify spending any more time here. Especially when I wasn't hearing anything I didn't already know and experience firsthand. We had to leave the office and—"

"Somebody stop these guys!"

Well, that didn't take long. We took cover and got off the first shot. EDI and I launched two EMPs, catching three mercs who had spread themselves out. Liara and Wrex were up next, triggering a massive pair of explosions with their biotics. Then we finished them off with conventional weapons fire. Just like we'd done in the last room and the room before that and the room before that.

Four more mercs went down, but not by us. Judging by the various trajectories, they were being hit from two sides. Apparently Teams Mako and Hammerhead had arrived on the scene, which meant this latest batch of mercs was surrounded on all sides.

"Starting to think we picked the wrong Shepard!" I heard one of the mercs grouse.

Starting? If this example of critical thinking and analysis was typical of the average CAT6 merc, I could see why they never really broke into the big leagues.

"_Attention, low-life mercenary wannabes!"_ James announced. _"Say 'please' and we'll accept your surrender." _

"_Say 'pretty please' and maybe Wrex will take a break,"_ Tali chimed in.

"Try it, and we'll see!" Wrex retorted. He fired a steady stream of bullets at the merc whose shield had been forcibly ripped away by Liara's biotics. Not to be outdone, I put a sniper round through another merc's head.

"_The Prothean, on the other hand, makes no such promises!" _Javik proclaimed.

Even Glyph joined in on the trash talk using some boosted loudspeakers: "Attention, enemy drones. Please cease hostile actions. I believe we could benefit from a mutual exchange of data. Additionally, the term 'floating butler' does not encompass all of my primary functions. One day, I too hope to possess combat capabilities like yourselves."

Okay, maybe Glyph didn't understand exactly what we were up to. But at least now I knew there were drones floating around. Sure enough, there were two or three of them. They were slow enough that I could easily take them out with the rest of my thermal clip.

Meanwhile, none of the mercs were surrendering. Seeing that, Teams Mako and Hammerhead let loose with a barrage of fireballs and biotic blasts. The mercs tried to hide behind their shields—ones generated by omni-tools as opposed to the ones that would be affected by EMPs—but to no avail. Before long, all the mercs were down for the count.

As I was reloading, Glyph floated up to me. "Commander, I have catalogued eighteen previously unknown historical events."

"Great. Where's the target, Glyph?"

"He is searching for a secret vault. He did not wish to be disturbed."

I looked up at the drone blankly. "Wait, what?"

"I thought he was you."

Oh for crying out loud! "For future reference, he was wearing a hardsuit with the same colour scheme as the mercs. Now go find him again!"

Glyph was speaking loud enough that everyone overheard that exchange. _"Stupid machine,"_ Javik snorted.

"_Chatika is so much better at this,"_ Tali added.

Liara was blushing in embarrassment. I decided not to add to her chagrin. Instead, I ordered the teams to continue advancing. Team Alpha spent the next minute or so walking through a couple rooms. Each time, we expected to get ambushed. To our mild surprise, they were all empty. The only things there were a terminal with credits to swipe, a sniper rifle mod and a med-kit.

All the fun and games ended with the next room, a cavernous expanse filled with storage tubes, catwalks and gunfire.

"Atlas on the walkway!" EDI called out.

Oh, that too.

"_Team Mako here,"_ Miranda reported. _"We're on it!"_

"_Team Hammerhead here, providing moral support,"_ Steve put in.

Contrary to Steve's claims, Hammerhead was doing more than offering mere encouragement. In fact, Teams Mako and Hammerhead were bombarding the Atlas with an alternating series of EMPs and biotics. It was clear that Miranda and Garrus had a carefully choreographed plan of attack, one that was being carried out even with the new additions of Steve and Brooks. Speaking of new additions: "Wrex, ever fight an Atlas before?"

"Saw one on Sur'Kesh, but I was in a shuttle at the time."

Right. I remembered that. So did Steve—it wasn't every day that a krogan commandeered your shuttle and took it into combat against a Cerberus attack force while you were a helpless spectator. "All right. Follow our lead: Team Alpha, rapid-fire weapons on the Atlas until its shields are gone. Fire at will."

"Right." As Wrex opened fire, he raised his voice. "Eight-hundred pound krogan here," he hollered, evidently following up where Miranda and Steve left off, "providing the boom!"

We managed to drain the Atlas's shields in short order. Unfortunately, the Atlas—or, to be more precise, the pilot—noticed my presence. _"This is Heavy One," _I heard him report. _"Engaging Shepard."_ As I watched, the Atlas took a single step off the walkway and dropped down, landing with a floor-shaking thud.

"_Put him in the ground!" _I heard my clone yell.

The Atlas pilot tried. At least, he swivelled the giant mech towards me. By that point, though, the Atlas was being hammered by plasma, biotics, concussive rounds and sniper rounds from three different directions. Even Wrex got in on the fun, figuring out what weapons would be better suited for armour plating. The armour integrity of the Atlas quickly went the same way as the shields.

"_Try to help out your friends and you end up in a mech fight,"_ Garrus teased. _"You're welcome, Team Mako!"_

"_Thanks, guys,"_ Brooks said, somewhat cheekily. _"Good luck!"_

In a last-ditch effort, the Atlas pilot deployed smoke grenades. It was too little too late, as we heard an explosion a few moments later.

"That wasn't so bad," Wrex said.

"Yeah," I said slowly. "It wasn't." As the smoke dissipated, I thought about the latest fight and realized why: the Atlas had no backup. Don't get me wrong: the Atlas was a formidable war machine with a devastating arsenal and the capacity to soak up a tremendous amount of damage. Against an inexperienced group, it would be overwhelming. However, virtually everyone in my squad was a combat veteran. Furthermore, most of us had gone up against Atlas mechs before.

The most significant reason for our relatively easy victory, however, was that the Atlas had gone up against the squad on its own. If it had backup, we would have to choose between concentrating fire on the Atlas—thus letting the comparatively softer and more vulnerable mercs advance—or deal with the mechs and let it close in for the kill. But since the Atlas attacked on its own, we could concentrate our fire—from three different directions, I might add—and destroy it without too much fuss. The fact that CAT6 let the Atlas loose on its own was a serious tactical error on their part.

Team Alpha restocked our ammo and continued, pausing only so I could open up a spare med-kit. The other teams presumably did the same, minus the looting. We were jogging down one of the walkways when Glyph found me. "Commander, a large contingent of soldiers calling themselves 'Razor Squad' is just ahead. They wish to inflict bodily harm on you."

I just love timely intelligence. "Thanks for the heads-up, Glyph. Inform the other teams immediately."

"Already done, Commander. Also, I discovered an elcor mating totem in Vault 347B. _Fascinating." _

And sometimes I hear things I didn't really need to know.

"I've got eyes on Shepard! Go, go, go!"

Like that. Looking around, I spotted eight mercs above and below us and got on the comm. "Shepard to Mako and Hammerhead: Alpha has eyes on the enemy and will engage shortly. Flank the mercs and take them out. Alpha: weapons free."

"Uncle Urdnot has a present for you," Wrex howled. He charged down the ramp towards the closest mercs, screaming a bloodthirsty battle cry, before suddenly diving to the left. Caught flat-footed, the mercs were caught out in the open. A perfect target for my EMP. And EDI's fireball. And Liara's biotics. And Wrex's shotgun.

Two more mercs lost their shields to another EMP and a biotic blast before being dispatched by a withering hail of bullets. "Team Mako here," James shouted out loud, without bothering to use the comm, "showing Team Hammerhead how it's done!"

"_Hammerhead here,"_ Steve retorted, as two more mercs lost their shields and their lives in short order. _"Only 'cuz you're copying us!"_

"_Mako here," _Kaidan said. _"If we were, we wouldn't be hitting anything!"_

"_This is Team Prothean!" _Javik shouted. _"I have a higher body count than all of you combined!" _

I very much doubted that, but there was no denying the telltale green glow of Javik's biotics as he hauled a merc sniper up into the air before slamming him into the ground with a satisfying crunch. Glyph adroitly dodged out of the merc's way before drifting towards Team Mako. "Lieutenant Vega, a volus pizza delivery man is on the line, asking for payment."

"Tell him they burnt the pepperoni!" James shouted back, his booming voice rising above the thunderous bursts of gunfire.

Well, so far Razor Squad wasn't making much of an impression. We seemed to have no trouble engaging in some lighthearted banter while still kicking ass. Activating my cloak, I peered out from behind a crate, located the last four targets and took one of them out with my sniper rifle. "Teams Mako and Hammerhead," I said as I decloaked, "take out the remaining snipers on the catwalk. Team Alpha will deal with the rest."

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw twin flashes of light as EMPs went off, followed by a pair of explosions from biotic blasts. Down below, we followed the same pattern of attack. A steady stream of bullets finished the last mercs off. So much for Razor Squad.

"_Razor Squad has arrived. Let's finish this."_

Apparently I was mistaken. The mercs we had been fighting were not part of Razor Squad. The fresh reinforcements who had just arrived on the scene were. I made a dozen mercs, sporting 'omnishields', heavy armour and assault rifles.

"_Heads up!"_ Steve warned. _"Looks like they're getting serious!"_

"Oh yeah, Esteban?" James shouted. "So maybe start hitting something for a change!"

"_Biggest target I see around here is your mouth, Mr. Vega!"_

CAT6 may have been getting serious, but so were we. On my signal, EDI and I fired off streams of plasma at the lead mercs, which were ignited by twin biotic blasts from Liara and Kaidan. Miranda and Javik did something similar, targeting one of the mercs bringing up the rear. With attacks both in front of and behind them, the mercs froze, not sure where to go.

That was a mistake, as all three of my squads took advantage of their hesitation to open fire. "I've fought volus bankers tougher than this!" Wrex roared in delight.

Glyph came to the same conclusion. "Attention, enemy soldiers," the drone said pleasantly. "You only have a 0.04 percent chance of winning this encounter."

"That drone's giving me a migraine!" one of the mercs groused.

Liara took that complaint personally, popping up to glare at the loudmouthed merc. "Hey!" she shouted indignantly. "He belongs to me!"

"Keep him on a leash!" the merc snapped, raising his assault rifle. I hastily dragged Liara back down before he could take her head off.

I received a nod of thanks from Liara, but it was clear she hadn't forgotten the remarks made against her drone. "Glyph," she ordered, "lower their morale!"

"Attention, enemy soldiers. Your life expectancy is now fifteen seconds and dropping. Fourteen… thirteen… twelve… Attention, enemy soldiers. Why do you persist in fighting? The Alliance offers a number of benefits and a generous retirement package. After seven years of service, a sabbatical to the planet of your choice can be arranged. I would be happy to discuss—"

Glyph broke off in favour of executing a few evasive manoeuvres. When he resumed, he had a distinctly peeved tone to his normally pleasant voice. "—please refrain from shooting at me."

Well, they wouldn't be shooting at Glyph—or any of us—for long. Their numbers were steadily dwindling. Before long, the last member of Razor Squad went down. _"Looks like we're clear,"_ Steve said.

"Looks like I saved everyone's ass again," Wrex boasted. "Heh, heh, heh!"

"Enough chit-chat," I said. "Hammerhead and Mako—keep pushing ahead."

"_Right!"_ Brooks said in a wavering voice. _"I might throw up a little bit now if that's okay with everyone."_

"Take a moment to catch your breath," I replied. "Miranda, give Brooks a minute—two, tops—then continue your advance."

"_Understood."_

I popped open a med-kit, looted its contents, then led Team Alpha to the nearest exit.

* * *

The wall sign told us we were now in section 5 AR 037. It was fairly large, though you wouldn't have known it from all the desks, bookcases, crates and pillars scattered throughout the place. Hiding behind one of the aforementioned crates, I looked for any hostiles.

Instead, it was Glyph who found me. "Commander, the other you wishes to pass on a message."

The message was brief and to the point. _"Shepard, save yourself the trouble. Once I have what I came here for, you won't matter anymore. Now go, drone! Deliver it!"_

"Great, Glyph," I bit out. "Please don't deliver any more messages on behalf of the hostiles we're pursuing. Just track my… the other… me… and report back with regular updates." Motioning the drone to come a little closer, I added a few more instructions. "Now go," I finally said.

It was only after I issued my orders that I realized I had just repeated my clone's words. Did I say it because it was a common turn of phrase? Because the clone and I thought the same way? Or because the clone knew me better than I knew myself? I shook my head to clear it of all those distractions and told myself to get my head back in the game.

I couldn't see my clone or CAT6, but I tried to exercise some degree of caution nonetheless. While we searched for them, we passed by another holo-display, which promptly sprang to life. _"Year 710 CE. Krogan genophage—deployment. Vault T101."_

Glancing over, I saw a turian standing by a computer console. Two more turians stood behind him, while a somewhat agitated salarian hovered by his side._ "We have our orders," _the lead turian announced._ "Release of the genophage against the krogan has been authorized."_

"_Not by my government," _the salarian protested.

"_Your government _invented _it," _the turian retorted. _"What good is a weapon if you don't use it? Sergeant Tavis, restrain him."_

"_Are we sure of our orders, sir?" _one of the other turians asked. I had my back turned to the holo-display while I was looking for mercs, but I assumed this was 'Sergeant Tavis'. _"This is genocide."_

"_Sergeant Howt, restrain them both," _the first turian snapped. _"I'll press the button myself. One day, salarian, you'll thank me."_

"_Dispersal commencing," _an automated voice announced.

EDI and Liara were ready to push on. Wrex, though, was transfixed by the display. I couldn't fault him for his lapse of attention. After all, this recording marked the release of the genophage and the start of his people's slow descent to extinction. It was worth noting that a few salarians and turians had misgivings or objections over the deployment of the genophage. Similarly, it was the brave actions of a few salarians—notably, Maelon and Mordin—and turians that led to the development and release of a cure. **(4)** Even with the krogan's famed reproductive rate, it would take some time before they would recover. I waited a few more seconds before finally clearing my throat. Wrex came to with a start, and we left without a word.

We'd only taken a few steps when I felt the telltale tingling along the back of my neck. I raised a fist to tell the team to hold. Sure enough, we could hear gunfire in the distance. Motioning for EDI and Liara to stay put, I led Wrex forward. After ten metres or so, we found cover and I signalled the rest of Team Alpha to advance. We leapfrogged like this for what seemed like an eternity—triggering a second holo-display in the process—before we finally found the mercs. There were three of them, all of whom were shooting at Glyph. Still simmering after the last merc who insulted Glyph, Liara immediately opened fire. Shaking my head, I bit my tongue and deployed an EMP. EDI set it off with a fireball, causing massive damage to their shields. Liara collapsed their shields with a few well-aimed bursts of gunfire before sucking the mercs into one of her singularities. She then vented her fury by taking out the helpless mercs one by one.

While Liara amused herself, EDI and Wrex kept a wary eye out for any more hostiles. That gave me a chance to finish clearing the area. In the process, I triggered the holo-display, which began its presentation again.

"_Year 693 CE. First Spectre. Beelo Gurji's recruitment. Vault S1."_

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw an asari step towards a salarian, who sat on a cot behind a force field. _"Beelo Gurji," _the asari said,_ "you are accused of using thirty civilians as bait to flush out and assassinate your target."_

"_I knew they'd survive," _the salarian replied. _"Probably."_

"_You're being released. The Council wants you to implement a new Special Tactics and Reconnaissance group."_

"_Desk job? No, thank you."_

"_This is no desk job. Spectres will consist of the best of the best. They will operate with impunity and answer only to the Council. You will be the first… assuming you accept. What do you say?"_

"_I'd say that sounds like the best job offer in the galaxy. Count me in."_

By the time the presentation ended, the mercs had been put down. And I found some more credits, weapon mods and thermal clips. "Status report," I said.

"Operating within optimal parameters," EDI reported.

Liara loaded a fresh thermal clip and gave me the thumbs-up. She seemed to have calmed down somewhat.

"I'm fine," Wrex said. "Which is more than I can say for these guys."

I walked over to see what he was talking about and almost stumbled over a pair of bodies. Human civvies, dressed in the kind of garb normally associated with academic labs. Glyph swooped over and came to a hovering halt over the bodies. "It appears the other Commander has a bad temper. Collateral damage does not concern him. A pity these scientists perished. I would like to have discussed the elcor mating totem with them."

"I'm a little more concerned at the fact that the other me is gunning down anyone who gets in his way. Come on!"

We cleared the rest of the room, finding nothing but a terminal with an open credit account and a busted holo-display that would have shown some early religious artifact from Earth. As we made our way towards the exit, Wrex glanced at Liara. "You ready?"

"Absolutely."

"No worrying? No emotional concerns? You've grown up, T'Soni."

"Well, I recently discovered that I'm one-quarter krogan."

"Ha!" Wrex barked. "I knew there was a reason I liked you."

Exiting through the door, we found ourselves with another flight of stairs to climb. As we trotted up the steps, I activated the comm. "Team Hammerhead, Team Mako: we're headed to the next level. What's your location?"

…

"Hammerhead, Mako: do you copy?"

"It appears that our communications have been jammed," EDI said.

Aw, crap. Didn't need three guesses to figure out the most likely suspect. We leapfrogged up the rest of the stairs, through the door and down the hall. We'd gone maybe twenty metres before Wrex spotted Team Mako. "Team Mako: status report."

To my relief, Miranda replied. _"Shepard, we're about to engage more mercenaries. We'll try to clear a path for you!"_

We could see them now. Most of them had omnishields and assault rifles. They were positioned to repel any assault we might make. If Team Mako was above us—and them—then maybe we could strike from two angles and take them out in the crossfire. "We'll help you clear out the mercs," I said in return. "Be advised that they're jamming our communications. We've been trying to reach you, but only got in touch now. Where's Team Hammerhead?"

"_Hammerhead's gone ahead. We didn't know about the comms, but we'll keep that in mind. Mako out."_

With that, it was time to start fighting. Again. EDI, Liara and I started things off by targeting the closest merc with a flurry of fireballs and biotics. Another fireball and biotic blast came down from the catwalk to strike another merc—courtesy of Team Mako. Both of the mercs survived, though they promptly wished they had perished in the flames: Wrex was charging forward by that point and, after that last genophage-related holo-display, he wasn't in a very good mood. "Uncle Urdnot's got a present for you!" he roared.

While Wrex beat them to a bloody pulp, Team Mako and the rest of Team Alpha slowly advanced on the remaining mercs. My omni-tool was still generating another round of plasma, and I suspected the rest of the squad faced a similar situation. Thankfully, we didn't need to wait for our special attacks to recharge. All we needed were guns. Lots and lots of guns.

Slowly but steadily, we whittled down the merc forces. Before long, there were only three mercs left. That is, there were three mercs before Teams Alpha and Mako let loose with a sustained barrage of gunfire that took out all but one of the mercs. The lone survivor decided discretion was the better part of valour, tossed his weapon aside and tried to make a run for it. He managed to take two steps before Wrex caught up to him, picked him up and rammed him into the wall with enough force to make him a permanent fixture—before Wrex pulled out his shotgun and blew his brains out. Personally, I thought that last part was overkill, but I decided not to make a big deal of it.

Silence descended once again—that is, if you didn't count the VI announcing that intruders had been detected and we should find the nearest emergency exit. The damn thing was probably on a pre-programmed loop. Still, better safe than sorry. "Team Mako, clear the walkways up there," I ordered. "Team Alpha will take care of things down here."

While we were making sure no one would sneak up behind us and put a few rounds in our back, we activated a few more holo-displays. The first one covered the first discovery of the Citadel by the asari.

"_Year 580 BCE. First Citadel landing—discovery logs. Vault A5."_

An asari voice replaced the VI as a simulated asari vessel approached a simulated Citadel. _"Approach of the mysterious space station has been uneventful. Pray Goddess it remains so. We humbly take this step for all asari. The destiny of our people forever altered._

"_These creatures that greet us seem harmless, but unable to communicate." _Glancing over my shoulder, I saw the holo-display was now showing three armed asari lowering their weapons after meeting a pair of keepers. _"Preliminary observation suggests that their role seems to be that of some sort of guardian. We will begin our exploration."_

If only the asari had known that the keepers weren't silent guardians or maintenance workers, but a cunning trap. We now knew that their main purpose was to maintain the Citadel so that sapient life would settle there, cycle after cycle, and develop until they reached the appropriate level of technological advancement, whereupon the Reapers would signal the keepers to activate the Citadel relay, usher the Reapers in and begin another round of genocide.

Any further reflection was interrupted by a slight shimmer in the air—and more warning signs from the back of my neck. An EMP briefly revealed the outline of a cloaked CAT6 sniper. EDI's plasma, and the resulting explosion, damaged the sniper's shields while simultaneously revealing another. Now that we knew we weren't alone, we quickly opened fire. The snipers went down, we dusted ourselves off and we resumed the search.

Our path led us towards the other holo-display, which covered a more recent event: _"Year 2183 CE. First human Spectre deliberations. Vault SH1."_

An image of… well… me slowly rotated as an unfamiliar male voice began speaking. _"Commander Shepard's recent accomplishments are not in question. It's his _background_ that the Council has no knowledge of."_

The guy sounded rather impatient for some reason. Thankfully, the other guy was a little more composed: _"Shepard was born to a career military family," _Hackett said,_ "growing up on various Alliance postings until enlisting at the age of eighteen." _

Apparently that simple and generic statement on my background—one that the Council shouldn't have had _any _trouble looking up—mollified the other guy. Probably because it saved the idiot the trouble of doing any homework._"Anything from Shepard's military record that you'd like to call out?" _

"_Many in the Alliance consider Shepard a war hero. On Elysium, for example. Shepard singlehandedly repelled an attack and saved the entire squad."_

Okay. It wasn't as simple as that. Hackett should've known that—that is, if _he _had done his homework.

"_Thank you for your presentation and to all who spoke."_

What presentation? What did the man mean by 'all who spoke'? I only heard two people.

"_The Council will render their decision on the suitability of Commander Shepard as Spectre within the day."_

So much for historical accuracy. No real detail into my background, either before or after my enlistment. Perpetuating the popular and inaccurate tale of what happened on Elysium. Even my choice of weapon was all wrong, I realized, spotting an assault rifle where a _sniper _rifle should have been. On the bright side, at least there was no mention of that monstrosity of a statue they put up. With my luck, the damn thing was still standing after the Reaper War. **(5)**

"_We see the clone, Shepard!" _Kaidan suddenly reported. _"Mako going in!"_

"Copy that," I replied, suddenly feeling a surge of anticipation. "Alpha's right behind you."

"Damn straight," Wrex growled. "Let's get the bastard."

* * *

There comes a point in every vid where you just know what's going to happen. It seems perfectly obvious, but the characters on the screen just charge forward anyway. Sadly, those who fail to learn from history—or popular culture—are doomed to repeat it. And apparently we were slow learners.

Case in point: as I led Team Alpha through another set of doors and up another set of stairs, I requested a status report. Brooks replied. At least, she tried to: _"We're under—"_

That was all I heard before the static drowned her out. Looking at the others, it was clear they hadn't caught any more of the response. "Mako, where are you?" I asked urgently.

No response.

We charged up the stairs, quickly looked around and went around the corner. We ignored the holo-display that was standing by and ran past row after row of desks.

"_Commander, do you copy?" _Brooks called out over the comm.

"What's your status?" I asked.

"_The other you is jamming our comms!" _she said in a quavering voice. _"Hammerhead and Mako are trying to get ahead and cut the other you off. I got separated from them while trying to find an opening to contact you. Please hurry!"_

"Brooks, are you by yourself?"

…

"Brooks?"

I knew that combat situations could be fluid, chaotic and confusing. But losing sight of a teammate, much less a civvie like Brooks, didn't sound like something Miranda or Garrus would do. "If you can hear us, Brooks, just hang on. We're coming!"

We passed through another set of doors and into a small room. _"Biometric verification required," _a VI said over the loudspeaker. A scanning field swept through the room. _"Spectre access is authorized."_

Apparently my mere physical presence was good enough to let me—and my non-Spectre companions—to pass. Which didn't speak highly of the security precautions that might have kept my clone or his merc buddies out. We entered the room and looked around.

"_Commander, over here! Help!" _

Brooks waved to us from the other side of the room, where I could hear the distant rattle of gunfire. _"The mercs came back with reinforcements! We're being cut off!" _Another burst of gunfire rang out and she hastily ducked out of view.

I led the team forward with the expectation of backing up the rest of my squad. Maybe find a way to flank them and start drilling brand new, bloody holes in merc heads. Set someone on fire. That sort of thing. As we ran through the room, the back of my neck tingled. No, not tingled. Rattled. _Hard. _

Before I could react, a biotic barrier sprang to life in front of me. I barely stopped in time before running into the damn thing. Looking back, I saw another barrier was blocking the path behind me. No, not another barrier—a single, circular barrier had activated, forming a cylinder that surrounded my team and what I now recognized as a couple display cases. It was another archive vault. One that we'd just blindly ran into without thinking twice.

And now we were stuck inside.

"That can't be good," Liara observed with remarkable understatement.

"Shepard to Mako and Hammerhead. We're trying to assist, but a vault's sealed us in. Requesting assistance." I paused, but no response came.

While I was on the comm, Wrex poked at the display cases. "Is there an override around here?"

"I do not detect any kind of control console," EDI replied.

"Miranda?" I tried again. "Garrus? Brooks? Do you read me? Is anyone on this frequency?"

"The short answer is no. They're not."

My clone stepped out from the other end of the room—the one Brooks had come from—crossed his arms and gave me a cocky smile. I raised my sniper rifle, pointed at his head… and hesitated. Before I pulled the trigger, I ran a quick scan. The results confirmed my guess: the barriers were too strong. Best-case scenario: they'd absorb a point-blank shot with no trouble. Worst-case scenario: the bullet would ricochet and drill a hole through _my _head. Or Liara. Or EDI. Wrex was debatable, but he'd probably wind up with a headache if nothing else. **(6)**

So I decided to stall for time by opening my big mouth. "And the long answer?"

"The long answer involves your so-called friends trapped in iridium vaults and forgotten for… well, forever."

I narrowed my eyes and glared at my clone. "Others know about this. About you. The Alliance will stop you."

My clone smirked. "What do you think, 'Staff Analyst Brooks'?" he called out as he slowly walked towards the vault. "Will the Alliance stop us?" The way he said that, the way he said Brooks's name and title, it all seemed a little too smug. Too knowing.

"I wouldn't know," a female voice replied. It sounded like Brooks, only deeper. And more British. Brooks sauntered up alongside the clone and casually leaned against his shoulder. She tapped the side of her neck, triggering a flicker of light that rippled across her face. Then she got a grip on a previously unseen fold and pulled off some kind of mask. "I don't actually work for them."

So the truth finally came out. I took a moment to assess Brooks—or whoever the hell she was. There were a few subtle differences, now that I was looking. Her face was a bit leaner, her nose a tad narrower. As I noted before, she spoke with a British accent, which made sense because lots of villains were British. **(7) **Most notable were her eyes. They used to be wide-eyed and naïve. Now they were narrowed, jaded and soul-chilling cold.

"Who the hell are you?" I finally asked. "And do you _really_ think I won't track you down?"

"My name doesn't matter. I never keep the same one for more than a few days. And if the Illusive Man never found me, you never will."

TIMmy? But that meant… "You're Cerberus?"

"Was. Mr. Illusive and I didn't see eye to eye. He was too easily seduced by the Reapers, too eager to force human evolution to the next stage through their technology—whereas I prefer my upgrades to be human-made and the whispers in my head to be my own. Naturally he wound up indoctrinated, another puppet for the Reapers. Before you killed him, that is."

Guess I wasn't the only one who could come up with catchy nicknames for Cerberus's chain-smoking leader. But I wasn't finished yet. "If you felt that way, why not come clean with me? We could've worked together."

"In a way, we did," 'Brooks' smiled. I knew that wasn't her real name, but it would have to do as a placeholder. "Before I left Cerberus, I was tasked with finding candidates to join you on your 'suicide mission'. I researched all the possible options, personally observed them—hello, Wrex—and put together all those dossiers on my final choices."

I glanced at Wrex. He gave me a blank look and shrugged. Apparently he had no idea what she was talking about. Either Brooks was lying through her teeth or she was really that good. "The Collector base. That was you?"

She nodded. "The salarian doctor. The turian vigilante. The asari justicar. The drell. I could go on."

"They have names, you know," I pointed out.

"They were all mistakes," she corrected me. "We were a pro-human group who were trying to promote human interests because the Alliance was too busy looking to aliens for help. And what did we do? Look to aliens for help. But Mr. Illusive was too busy puffing cigars and pretending he had everything under control to see the truth. No one seemed to care that Cerberus had gone astray. Lawson dismissed my concerns—that's right. Your genetically-enhanced girlfriend and I worked together. Not that she recognized me, the arrogant fool.

"So I bided my time. And when I found another 'you' who agreed with the way I saw things, I woke him up."

My clone had apparently ceded his part of the conversation to Brooks, who seemed to have quite the lofty opinion of herself. Not to mention a burning eagerness to talk about how clever and devious she was. Well if she really wanted to indulge that classic villain trope of monologuing and speechifying, who was I to deny her? "So what was the point of all this? Why drag me from one end of the Citadel to the other?"

"All we really wanted was your Spectre code," she shrugged, "which you were obliging enough to broadcast for us. But then you survived the hit and insisted on bringing that damned asari into it, so I had to tie up loose ends."

Liara's eyes narrowed at Brooks's description of her, but she said nothing. Which was good because I wanted to keep her going. "You're talking about Khan."

"I put together a profile on Elijah Khan as well. Did you know that the volume of his arms deals had dropped significantly over the last five years? It wasn't because business wasn't good. Rather, word was getting around that his clients had a habit of getting caught… or winding up dead. People were starting to realize he would say anything—give up anything—if enough pressure was applied. I knew that if you got to him, you'd make him talk. So when you sent me and T'Soni into the casino to gather intelligence, I slipped away, confronted him in his office and… took care of him."

"You mean you poisoned him."

She raised an eyebrow ever-so-slightly. "Very good. You're smarter than you look. I was hoping that his death would stymie your investigation, even despite your clone's ill-advised communication, but your sex bot just had to go and recover the data. So here we are: forced to… contain the situation."

Now it was EDI's turn to glare. My clone wasn't too happy either. I had a feeling he didn't appreciate being reminded of his status as a clone of the genuine article, even if it was technically accurate. Still, neither of them seemed willing to join the conversation, so it was up to me to keep things going. "Fair warning: nobody who's betrayed us has ever survived."

Wrex sighed and shook his head. "And yet they keep trying. You'd think they'd know better."

Brooks and the clone looked at each other. I decided to seize the conversation, just on the off-chance they were starting to have second thoughts about this whole situation.

"You two may think you're clever. And yeah, you might have had a moment. But sooner or later, you run out of clever. You know what happens next? I'll tell you what happens next: you wind up facing the business end of a gun and a bullet with your name on it."

They looked at each other again.

"I know what you're thinking: how can this guy possibly make these claims when he's trapped in this vault. Yeah, maybe I am trapped. But do you think I'll _stay _trapped? I've gotten out of tighter situations than this. So don't get comfortable. Because I'm a trained sniper… and that bull's-eye on your back is getting bigger by the second."

Brooks clapped slowly in mock applause. "That sounds very dramatic. And if someone like, say, Commander Shepard made the threat, I might be worried. But you're not Shepard. Not anymore."

She gestured to the clone, who picked up where she left off. "You had Lawson. I have her. Mine has more bite."

I think Miranda would disagree. I knew I did.

"It was fun while it lasted," Brooks said. "But now…"

She trailed off and looked over her shoulder at the clone. Taking the hint, he leaned over and activated a nearby console. "What are you doing?"I asked.

"Setting things right," the clone replied. "Remember this?"

He tapped a button. The holo-screen disappeared, replaced by a miniature image of the Citadel Council. _"You are the first human Spectre, Commander," _Councillor Tevos said. _"This is a great accomplishment for you and your entire species."_

"Yeah, I remember," I said. "When the Council made me a Spectre and sent me after Saren. I was there."

"Except somewhere along the way, you forgot about your entire species. You've saved more alien lives than you have human."

"I saved alien lives to save human lives, and human lives to save alien lives," I argued. "It's not either-or. I don't care who I saved or what species they are. Every life counts. Every life matters. Or is that concept too hard for a _clone _to grasp?"

The clone laughed. "Funny you should mention 'grasp'. You know the one thing they can't duplicate? Our handprint. Life gives it its shape, not DNA… which is a problem. **(8)** Computer!"

The miniature Council disappeared and the holo-screen returned. _"Voiceprint authorization confirmed. Good day, Commander Shepard."_

"Update Council records. Subject: Shepard, Charles Irving. Human Spectre."

"_Accessing record. Please input new data."_

Shepard pressed his hand against the holo-screen.

"_Biometric identifier updated."_

"I'm done now."

"_Good day, Commander Shepard."_

So that was his plan—or, I was starting to suspect, the plan of the woman calling herself 'Brooks'. Make me go on a merry chase, luring us deeper and deeper into a rarely-visited archive where few would find us. Encourage us to split up and spread out, making it easier to pick us off one team at a time. Finally, find a way to replace my biometrics and take one more step to stealing my identity. Not bad, I was forced to admit.

"Now if you'll excuse me," the clone sneered, "the Normandy needs its captain."

Her. _Her _captain, not _its_. A real navy officer would know that.

"So… I should go."

I could have said something. I should have said something. But the way he said those last three words just took me aback.

"Farewell, Commander," Brooks added. "I guess this is where 'legends' go to die."

The vault suddenly jerked to life, almost knocking the four of us off our feet. By the time we'd recovered, we were already sliding into the storage tube. Everything went dark, with only the lights from the display cases providing illumination. We felt ourselves go down, down, down until we finally slid to a stop. Everything went eerily quiet.

At least, until Wrex cleared his throat. "Refresh my memory. Didn't we use to win these things back in the old days?"

* * *

_(1): Common Era, a notation era for the galaxy's most widely used calendar era. It is numerically equivalent to the human Anno Domini (AD) calendar era._

_(2): The squad made regular use of comms during combat to convey information clearly… and preserve their vocal cords. Shepard did not indicate as such when members of Team Alpha were talking, given that they were usually within earshot for him. _

_(3): I would protest, but Shepard knew me all too well._

_(4): I would add human to that list. Technically, it was a multi-species effort of humans, asari, AIs, Protheans, salarians, turians and krogan—but there was one human in particular who played a pivotal role during each stage of the genophage cure's development and release._

_(5): It was._

_(6): To quote EDI, that was a joke. It should be self-evident, but I have discovered that some readers can be remarkably literal._

_(7): An exaggeration and stereotype on Shepard's part that, like the previous footnote pointed out, should not be taken literally._

_(8): While overall pattern types are often genetically inherited, the individual details of identifying ridge features are not. Key events during fetal development create permanent patterns that are unique, even between identical twins... or, in this case, between clones._


	6. The Genuine Article

**A Hero by Any Other Name**

_Author's Note: Well, I had a blast writing this novelization. Alas, all good things must come to an end. Thankfully, every ending leads to a beginning. My next fanfic, Tales from the Citadel, will cover the various encounters Shepard will have during the remainder of Mass Effect 3: Citadel. And I would like readers to weigh in with their opinion._

_For the next month, you can go to my profile and vote on which character Shepard will meet with during the first chapter of Tales from the Citadel. After that, I'll start writing in earnest and you'll see the results in the New Year._

* * *

**Chapter 6: The Genuine Article**

EDI, Liara, Wrex and I found ourselves trapped in a vault, somewhere deep within the bowels of the Citadel Archives. Teams Mako and Hammerhead were presumably in similar straits. My clone, Brooks—who I now knew beyond any doubt was a mole and traitor—and CAT6 were off to steal my ship and my life. Under the circumstances, you'd think I wouldn't have room for any other pressing concerns.

You'd be wrong. "He said 'I should go'," I frowned. "Do I really sound like that?"

"As long as I've known you, yeah," Wrex confirmed.

"You may have uttered that phrase during some of our past conversations," Liara said slowly. "Mostly on the Normandy SR-1. But perhaps we should be worrying about the impregnable vault we've been sealed inside forever."

"How come nobody told me this before?" I asked, still fixated on the way my clone enunciated his words. "I'm open to feedback here. I thought I made that pretty clear."

"Well, I thought all humans said it," Wrex replied, "like some weird Earth custom or something."

"Have you known a lot of humans who said that particular phrase regularly?" I wanted to know. "For that matter, have you ever heard _me_ say that phrase regularly?"

"You might have a point there," Wrex conceded. "Did I ever tell you, I thought all turians talked about calibrations 'cuz Garrus kept going on and on about it. Boy was I ever wrong. Apparently, it's just him."

"On the subject of talking," EDI interjected, "given the average respiration rate of a krogan, an asari and a human, and the fact that I do not need to breathe, I calculate that we have sixty minutes and nine seconds worth of air remaining at most."

"It's just… the way he said that phrase didn't sound right," I continued, as if I hadn't heard her. "Maybe it's 'I should _go_.' No, that isn't any better. 'I _should _go.' Geez, that's even worse. '_I _should go.' That—"

Liara took a deep breath, then seemed to immediately regret it considering EDI's earlier statement. "Shepard," she said with a polite but strained voice, "why aren't you more worried about our predicament?"

"Hmm? Oh. 'Cuz Miranda and I had a plan to cover something like this." Reaching up to my ear, I activated my comm. "Glyph, you still out there?"

"_Yes, Commander."_

"Unlock this damned thing," I ordered. "Then go find the others. No one steals my ship. Not even me." **(2) **

* * *

After Glyph freed us from the vault, he went to find the other teams. That gave me time to start thwarting my clone's plan. Or maybe I should say the plan of Brooks—or whatever her name was.

But I digress.

Walking to the closest computer console, I activated it with a few keystrokes. "Computer! Update Council records. Subject: Shepard, Charles Irving. Human Spectre."

"_Voiceprint authorization confirmed. Good day, Commander Shepard. Accessing record. Please input new data."_

I pressed his hand against the holo-screen.

"_Biometric identifier updated."_

All right. Now to make it just a little bit harder for my clone—or anyone else—to pull this off again. "Display available options for encryption of my Council records." I looked over the possibilities before selecting a verbal phrase as my password. **(1)** Not much, but it was better than nothing. "That's all for now."

"_Good day, Commander Shepard."_

By that point, Team Hammerhead had been freed as well. While Glyph went to find the last of our squad, Wrex sidled over to Tali. "You been practicing with that shotgun?" he asked. "Still remember the fast-reloading trick I showed you?"

"You know, I've taken care of myself for the past few years," Tali said in amusement.

"I know," Wrex sighed. "I'm old and I worry, even though my favourite quarian's all grown up and killed her very own Reaper."

"You're like the crazy head-butting uncle I never had," she said affectionately.

And that, ladies and gentlemen, was why we were going to beat Brooks, her merc hirelings and her little clone too. Because we weren't just a kick-ass squad. We were friends. We were _family_.

Before I could think of any more clichés to whip out, Glyph returned with Team Mako in tow. "Everyone all right?" I asked.

Everyone told me they were A-okay and ready to go.

"Right. Now that that's settled: by now, you've undoubtedly gathered that my… the other me is working with Brooks. They've gone with CAT6 to steal the Normandy. We've got to catch up with them. Glyph, based on your scans, find the fastest way out of here and send the route to our HUDs."

"At once, Commander."

As soon as I got the map, I got on the comm. Thankfully, the jamming had stopped. Guess my clone figured there was no point if we were locked up in the Archive vaults. "Joker, do you read me?"

"_Shepard! Where the hell have you been? I tried to contact you earlier!"_

"Our comms have been jammed by my clone. I repeat, the guy trying to kill me and steal my identity is my clone. He hired CAT6 to take me out. He also jammed our comm signals earlier. Furthermore, Brooks has been secretly working with him the whole time. The two of them are going to steal the Normandy with the rest of the CAT6 mercs they hired."

"_They _what_?!"_

Joker was outraged, which was only natural considering he had a very personal investment in the Normandy. "We're gonna stop them, Joker. I need you to move the skycars to a new rendezvous location. Sending you the NavPoint now."

"_Yeah… about that…"_

Why couldn't things go my way for once? "What is it, Joker?"

"_Some of the mercs dropped by and disabled the skycars. That was why I was trying to contact you. I barely got away without being caught."_

Aw, crap.

"_Good news, I got away clean and fixed the skycars. I'll meet you at the new NavPoint. Joker out."_

Once Joker got off the comm, I turned to the squad. "Let's move," I told them. "Team Alpha takes point, followed by Team Hammerhead. Team Mako brings up the rear."

"Shepard," EDI said as we began making our way to the designated NavPoint, "you clearly anticipated being captured by Brooks and your clone."

"Not exactly," I admitted, "but I had a feeling something like that might happen. That was why I told Glyph to make himself scarce. Yeah, I wanted him to do some recon, but I also wanted someone available to spring us loose or go for help."

"You also mentioned that you _and _Miranda devised that contingency plan," Liara chimed in. "Perhaps you could elaborate."

"Now does seem like a good time to bring everyone up to speed," I agreed. "I guess it all started with how Joker and I got lured out to that sushi restaurant, and how Brooks warned us about my records being compromised and someone gunning for me… just moments before CAT6 came barrelling in. I'd like to say it was simply a lucky coincidence, but I've never really been that lucky."

"You do seem to have a knack for attracting trouble," Garrus acknowledged. "I feel so proud."

"I learned from the best," I joked. "It was after the squad first assembled at Anderson's apartment that Miranda provided another piece of the puzzle. She seemed to think she'd met Brooks before."

"The way she said certain things, certain turns of phrase seemed familiar," Miranda supplied. "Not to mention the fact that she kept looking at me as if she knew me from somewhere."

"Again, maybe it was a coincidence," I took over. "Another one. Odd, I know. But the real kicker was when we found Khan's body. The forensic program Garrus gave me revealed that Khan had died somewhere between ten to twelve hours before the charity function."

"Which was around the time that Brooks and I were casing the casino," Liara realized.

"Exactly," I nodded. "I could only think of a few possibilities. Either some random party got to Khan, Liara slipped away and flayed Khan with her mind or Brooks slipped away and silenced Khan before he could say anything incriminating. **(3)** The first option opened way too many possibilities to reasonably cover. The second option seemed unlikely, considering Liara knew how important it was to talk to Khan. The third option… made a lot of things very clear.

"It explained the convenient timing behind how Brooks contacted me before CAT6. Her attempts to warn me would put her in my favour. Her getting shot threw off any initial suspicions we might have had. All that, plus the fact that she clearly had some background knowledge that we sorely lacked, allowed her to insert herself into our investigation, discourage us from contacting C-Sec or any outside help and monitor our progress—which put her in a prime position to deal with Khan before we got too close."

"Like when we were brainstorming," Kaidan recalled. "She all but volunteered to crawl through the casino air shaft when we were going to use that route to get to Khan's panic room."

"Exactly," I said.

"Did you ever find out how Khan died?" Garrus, ever the investigative officer, wanted to know.

"C-Sec did," I replied. "I talked to Bailey, off the record, before we went to the casino. Seemed prudent, considering how C-Sec was undoubtedly investigating the Ryuusei shooting. He was not happy, by the way. Neither was he happy when Miranda got in touch with him after we left the casino."

"You mean you weren't talking to your sister?" James asked.

"I needed a plausible reason to slip away," Miranda said. "Bailey confirmed that Khan died approximately eleven hours before the charity event by means of poison. Their forensic specialists were having trouble breaking down the chemical composition, but I recognized it as a compound that Cerberus had used on several occasions."

"And that's when you knew Brooks was a traitor from Cerberus?" Javik guessed.

"Yes," Miranda nodded, "though I still couldn't place exactly where I'd met her or who she was. Remember: Cerberus was deliberately decentralized, back in the day. And Brooks, to her credit, did an excellent job of maintaining her cover."

"Bailey reluctantly agreed to let us continue running our investigation on our own and see how it played out," I said, "rather than bring Brooks into custody. And when we detected my Spectre codes being used at the Archives, Bailey had C-Sec clear the area. That way, we could let things play out while minimizing any civilian casualties."

"Okay," Garrus said, "so now we know who's trying to steal your identity: Brooks and your clone. Miranda, can you provide any further information?"

"'Brooks' joined Cerberus sometime in the 2160s or 2170s," Miranda began, "going by the name 'Rasa.' When asked, she said a man she once knew said Cerberus stood for something and she wanted to stand for something too. She was always a little circumspect about her origins, but routine physicals suggested she grew up under poor socio-economic conditions. She performed several infiltration and espionage missions for Cerberus, adopting a variety of aliases such as 'Captain Channing' and 'Hope Lilium.'

"In 2183, she was assigned to research Shepard's background and the various people who eventually formed his squad when he was searching for Saren. Shepard, you may find it interesting that, even back then, she voiced her disapproval of your handling of the hunt and your choice to employ nonhumans."

Well, at least she was consistent.

"A year later, she was 'read in' on Project Lazarus—Shepard's restoration—and the development of the clone. Rasa, or Brooks if you prefer her current alias, was tasked with retrieving Shepard's classified records from the Spectre offices at the Citadel. She managed to obtain the data, though it was tainted with a computer virus. And she was somehow poisoned hours before her extraction. After she recovered, Brooks was tasked with finding potential recruits to assist Shepard in his mission against the Collectors and compiling dossiers on them. She complained about being assigned research tasks instead of field missions on several occasions and grew increasingly disillusioned with Cerberus. Truth be told, she was starting to be quite an annoyance. Eventually, she left… but not before uploading a computer virus that affected the Lazarus station's surveillance systems, shooting several operatives and stealing Shepard's clone. That was the last I heard of her… until now."

"Apparently, she still has some grudges where cooperating with nonhumans is concerned," Liara said dryly.

"Not to mention her gripes with how Cerberus was being run," I added. "Guess she thought she'd have better luck with a clone that she could mold and program to her will."

Garrus spoke for everyone present when he said "Let's get moving. I think we all want to show them the error of their ways."

* * *

Joker was waiting for us when we crawled out of the Archives. And he wasn't very happy. "Figure out who goes in which skycar and make it fast, 'cuz the other Shepard is stealing my ship!"

Before we could figure out the seating arrangements, EDI suddenly spoke up. "Shepard, your clone has entered the ship and is attempting to—" She abruptly broke off and entered what I can only describe as a violent seizure. Her visor flashed back and forth between the usual orange and a bright blue. A series of warning beeps came out of her mouth. Then her eyes went dark, her visor vanished and her head slumped forward.

"She supposed to do that?" Wrex asked.

"Oh shit," James cursed.

"Inevitable in retrospect," Javik murmured.

EDI suddenly jerked up. "I'm okay!"

We stared at her. Joker was the one who spoke first. "Really."

His skepticism was justified. That was an unusually perky 'I'm okay' compared to EDI's usual calm voice. The holographic visor was still missing. One eye was tilted towards the floor while the other was rolled upward.

I decided to give her a few more seconds to recover while I issued orders. "Wrex, Garrus and Tali—go in that car. Javik, join Team Mako in that one. EDI, Liara and I will join Joker." While the squadmates moved to their assigned skycars, I glanced at EDI. "Can you tell us what he did?"

With some effort, she managed to move her eyes until they were more or less looking forward. "The clone has disabled my control of the Normandy as well as all sensory input. I cannot lock him out or counteract his commands."

"But you can still operate your mech body?"

"I made a flash-imprint of my primary operational and conversational subroutines, then downloaded it to this body before I lost control."

"Have you ever done anything like this before?" I wanted to know.

"Negative."

So this was the trial run. No wonder there were a few glitches. "Anything else you can tell us?"

"I am experiencing a significant feedback loop in my head… and an increased desire to kill your clone."

"Fair enough," I conceded. "Meanwhile, we really gotta go. Get in the car."

With that, I hopped in the skycar, Joker closed the hatch and we flew away.

No one said anything for several minutes. No one cracked any jokes or shared any light-hearted banter. Because after how well things had gone, we'd suffered yet another setback. One that very easily could have led to our deaths. And now we had someone trying to steal my ship and my life. So, yeah, happy fun times this was not.

Joker finally broke the silence. "This is why I hate shore leave. I swear, you park the ship for five minutes…"

Technically, it had been a couple days, but I didn't think that would help. "Could you contact Citadel flight control and get them to deny the departure request?" I asked.

"Tried. All the comm lines in the area are jammed. Started just after you contacted me. Probably to make it easier to steal my ship!" Those last words were practically yelled out in frustration.

"We'll stop them," I tried to reassure him. Empty platitudes, I know, but that was all I had to offer. One of us had to maintain a semblance of calm, and it clearly wasn't going to be Joker.

"We'd better. I didn't survive a goddamn war with the Reapers just to have your evil clone steal the Normandy. I just got the seat broken in how I like it."

"Concentrate on getting us to the Normandy," I said soothingly. "We'll take care of the rest. What's our ETA?"

"About a minute until we reach the docking bay. I'll have to drop you off outside: Citadel systems automatically target anything flying nearby. If anything violates the flight exclusion zone, they'll open fire."

Frustrating, but it made sense. These days, you never knew if an unauthorized flyer was a prankster with too much time on his—or her—hands, an amateur who'd gotten lost or a terrorist looking to inflict mass casualties. And that's before you consider the fact that this was the centre of galactic government. That wasn't about to change just because a clone, a disgruntled terrorist and a bunch of dishonourably discharged soldiers-turned-mercs were trying to steal the identity and the ship of the first human Spectre who only wanted to recuperate from life-threatening injuries and have some sushi.

But I digress.

Joker got us to the docking bay in forty seconds flat. Looking back, I'm not sure how he pulled that off, but I'm pretty sure it involved breaking a few speed laws and taking more than one illegal shortcut. We quickly got out of the skycar. "Joker, Steve: try to contact C-Sec and bring them up to speed. Maybe they can stop the Normandy from being launched.

"Right," Joker nodded.

As the two of them took off, I turned to the squad. "We'll stick with the same team names and assignments for now."

"Glad that's settled," Kaidan said, "'cuz we've got company."

He was talking about the mercs heading our way. Because we couldn't have a single blessed minute of peace and quiet. That would be too easy. At least their presence didn't scare off my squad. "More cannon fodder," Javik sneered.

"Good," Wrex approved. "I needed to kill something."

"Happy to oblige, Wrex," I replied. "Everyone: fire at will."

Seeing how I didn't want to disappoint the big lug, we went straight to the killing. **(4) **There were about six mercs in the first wave, who were probably wondering why they were stationed outside the Normandy… right up until their shields were fried by the EMPs launched by myself, Miranda and Garrus. Then Wrex, Liara and Kaidan hurled their biotics. Then we mowed them down with gunfire.

Next came another six mercs. They also had shields—the kind generated by omni-tools. Another missing piece seemed to click into place as I realized something: I hadn't really heard much about CAT6 before this incident. While that could mean they kept a low profile or confined their activities to a specific locale, it was more likely that they were a minor outfit with an obscure reputation and minimal resources or influence. Now they had weapons and tools—like actual physical shields, drones and Atlas mechs—that were very similar to the ones Cerberus deployed during the Reaper War. It was possible that Brooks still had a few ties to Cerberus and used them to outfit CAT6. Either that or there was a lot of Cerberus surplus weaponry out on the black market.

James had more immediate concerns. "You do not want to get in my way, _pendejos_," he warned the mercs.

They didn't listen, so we opened fire. This time, we varied our attacks. EDI and I started things off by launching a couple fireballs. Meanwhile, Miranda deployed a biotic attack and Wrex threw a grenade at the other two. Then Liara, Kaidan and Javik used their biotics to set off a few explosions in their midst. After that, we mowed them down with gunfire.

I know, I know: it wasn't that much of a variation from our first response. And it sounded really easy. Keep in mind that we were all combat veterans. Also, we had the high ground. But we couldn't stay up here forever.

After reloading our weapons, we climbed down the closest ladder to the walkway and double-timed it to the Normandy. All was well until my sensors picked up some more hostiles. Pulling out my sniper rifle, I did some impromptu recon. I made note of the mercs who also had sniper rifles. If memory served, they carried cloaking devices too. As far as I was concerned, only one side got to turn invisible and deal death from long range. So I assigned one sniper to Garrus, picked one for myself and divvied up the rest of them amongst the rest of the squad. Then I cloaked, lined up a shot and fired.

"Damn it, they're going for the ship!" one of the mercs yelled, as one sniper abruptly lost his head.

"I thought they were supposed to be dead!" another merc cried out, as another sniper's head suddenly went poof.

"Never mind that!" the first merc snapped, as a third sniper found out she couldn't deflect two sniper rounds with her skull. "Open fire, open fire!"

Bullets started flying our way. We responded with bullets, biotics, EMPs, plasma and more bullets. "Team Mako, watch your flank," I warned.

"We're on it," Miranda reassured me. She and Kaidan waited until the pair of mercs I spotted reached the bottom of the ramp and slowed down to avoid tripping over a crate. Then Kaidan dropped an EMP, followed by some plasma from Miranda and a shit-ton of bullets from James. "Cover us while we advance forward," she added after the mercs went down.

"Copy that," I responded. "Team Alpha: cover Mako's advance."

Mako's initiative soon paid off. The mercs suddenly began leapfrogging forward, laying down an impressive amount of coordinated cover fire. We managed to damage a few shields here, take out a merc there, but there was no denying they were making steady progress towards our position. "Team Hammerhead, fall back. Team Mako, get ready."

Garrus obligingly led his team in a tactical retreat. Once they signalled they were ready, Alpha followed. The mercs quickly pursued, eager to seize the momentum.

And that's when an EMP, a biotic burst and a concussive round struck them from behind. "Now!" I shouted. More EMPs and biotic bursts hit the lead mercs along with a few streams of plasma and a couple grenades. After that, we just methodically took out the surviving mercs one shot at a time. It wasn't like we had any better tactics to use. Besides, we could always loot their bodies for spare thermal clips afterwards.

Unfortunately, we didn't have much time to waste. I had just finished restocking my clips—and maybe grabbing some spare credits and a weapons mod—when I heard a kind of whining noise. It started off slow, but quickly picked up in volume. "Is that what I think it is?" I asked.

"The Normandy's engines are coming online!" EDI confirmed. "They are preparing to depart!"

We quickly broke into a run. "When we wanna take off, there's a half hour of pre-flight checks!" I groused. "They just gun the engines and go?"

"Clone must've used Spectre authorization to get clearance for emergency departure," Kaidan suggested.

"Actually, most of those checks are unnecessary," Tali confessed. "We just put them in to make the captain—you, in this case— feel better." **(5)**

"Thanks for letting me know," I said sarcastically, making a mental note to have a long talk with Engineering when this mess was over.

Of course, we were still in the middle of said mess, as there were still six more mercs between us and my ship. One of the six spotted us. "Send a warning to the Normandy!" he cried out.

"We can't!" another merc replied. "Comms are jammed, remember?"

"Damn it!"

Glad to hear the jamming worked both ways. You'd think the mercs would have thought of that beforehand. Still, if it meant giving us the element of surprise against Brooks and my clone, I wasn't about to complain. "One last push, people," I said. "Let's go!"

Another wave of EMPs damaged the enemy shields. A barrage of plasma and biotics collapsed them for good. And a concentrated burst of gunfire finished the mercs off. Popping up, I ran forward, hands grabbing replacement thermal clips, weapon mods and med-kits along the way. Liara was right behind me. "We should hurry," she urged the others.

"Come on, everyone," I chimed in. "I didn't come this far just to watch the Normandy leave." With that, we ran up a flight of stairs, darted along the walkway and ascended one more flight of stairs before racing through the docking port.

* * *

To my mild surprise, we weren't met by another group of mercs, Brooks or even my clone. No, it was a visibly upset Samantha who was stumbling out the airlock as we rounded the corners. "And I don't even…" she was saying to herself before she saw us. "Wait, what?"

"Samantha?" I said in surprise.

"You!" she exploded, her voice filled with confusion, betrayal and anger. "You were just on the Normandy. You… you _fired _me! Dishonourable discharge for conduct unbecoming!"

Oh for the love of… my clone really had a lot to answer for.

"You kicked me off the ship with _barely_ enough time for me to grab my toothbrush!"

I blinked. Did she just say…?

Yep, I realized as she brandished a toothbrush like a symbol of her wounded pride. She did.

"I may be a Spectre, Samantha, but even _I _can't fireyou without a disciplinary hearing," I told her. "Alliance regulations clearly specify a dishonourable discharge can only be handed down after a court martial, which I would have no control over. Besides, after everything you did during the war—integrating all the allied war feeds, analyzing the crap out of all the tactical and strategic data that came in, tracking Kai Leng's shuttle after Thessia and so on—a court martial would be the last thing on my mind. Hell, I put your name in for a commendation."

"You… you did?" Samantha asked, her voice notably calmer.

"Just before I started rehab," I confirmed. "And really, the first thing you grab is your toothbrush?"

"It's not _just _a toothbrush, it's—"

"A Cision Pro Mark 4," I finished. "It uses tiny mass effect fields to break up plaque and massage the gums. You left your last one back on Earth and had to drop six thousand credits to pick up a new one on the Citadel."

"E-exactly," Samantha said. By this point, she definitely sounded more confused than angry. "_I_ told you that."

"And I remember, because _I'm_ the real Shepard."

"Well… the Shepard who threw me off the ship did not remember that conversation at all. He was just as perplexed about my toothbrush as you were; only he was much nastier about it. If it wasn't… you…"

"That Shepard was a clone," Miranda intervened, "grown by Cerberus as a backup plan and organ donor when I spearheaded the project to bring the real Shepard back. A disgruntled former operative left Cerberus a few years ago with the clone. Now they're trying to replace Shepard by stealing his identity, his life and his ship."

Samantha blinked. "Seriously? Ma'am?"

"Seriously," Tali confirmed with a shrug. "Honestly, when you serve on the Normandy long enough, you get used to things like this."

"And those… people who accompanied your… clone?" Samantha asked. "They weren't wearing Alliance uniforms."

"CAT6 mercenaries," I replied. "I can explain more later. For now..."

There was one more door before the outer seal of the airlock. Wrex took one look at the controls, pulled out his shotgun and blasted the panel open. James promptly gave the sensitive electronic innards a good swift kick. By some minor miracle, the doors obligingly opened instead of having a nervous breakdown and locking down on the spot. Giving Wrex and James a glare, which they blithely ignored, I hurried over to the airlock and tried to activate the controls. Unfortunately, after a few seconds, the spinning circular icons turned to a harsh red with an equally harsh rejection tone. "It's sealed," I said, just in case anyone wasn't paying attention.

Miranda and EDI tilted their heads. "The Normandy's engines are fully powered up," the former said while the latter warned "They are preparing to take off!"

"No time to blow the door," James frowned.

"Don't even think about it!" Tali snapped.

"Is there anyone still aboard who can help us?" I asked Samantha, hoping against all hope.

She shook her head. "No. I was only there because I helped with the Normandy retrofits back on Earth. Everyone else is on shore leave."

Of course they were. Well, I'd have to work with what—or who—I had. "Okay, you know this ship inside and out. Can you get us inside?"

Samantha looked around, then crouched down and began patting the floor. "There's an emergency exit hatch for evacuations. It should be right… here!" She pried open a panel and put it aside.

I bent down and scanned the hatch. "No good," I reported after scanning it with my omni-tool. "Manual lock, and it's only meant to be opened from the other side." I glanced up at the squad. "Any ideas?"

"Hacking is out of the question," Miranda frowned. "A small, highly localized mass effect field might serve to turn the lock. Unfortunately, I don't know if I have the fine control required to trigger it without crushing the lock entirely."

"Neither do I," Liara admitted.

"Make that three," Kaidan sighed. "Maybe a joint effort?"

"We would have to synchronize our respective biotic fields," Miranda replied. "It wouldn't be as much of an issue if we were trying to repel high-velocity projectiles, but something as small as a lock—"

She broke off as a high-pitched whirring noise sprang to life behind us. We turned around and looked at Samantha. Specifically, the toothbrush she was holding in her hand.

"No way," I said incredulously. "There's no way that could possibly work."

* * *

Much to my surprise, it worked.

Turned out a toothbrush powered by mass effect fields had enough precision to open an Alliance-issue emergency exit hatch. Liara used her omni-tool to determine where exactly the locking mechanism was, while Samantha used her toothbrush to move the necessary components one by one. And before we knew it, the emergency hatch popped open.

I shook my head in amazement. "If you told me this morning that a toothbrush was going to save the Normandy," I said, "I'd have been very skeptical."

Sadly, there was no more time for chit-chat. Without another word, we hastily jumped down the hatch into the access tube and started crawling like mad. I could actually feel the shaft vibrating through my hands and knees. Up ahead, I could see another hatch. Based on Samantha's information, we had to get past that hatch before the Normandy's docking clamps released. Failure would mean… well… suffice it to say it would be a long, _long _way down.

Thankfully, we all made it.

"Pretty sure we broke Samantha's toothbrush getting the hatch open," I whispered. "Remind me to reimburse her for that." Unlike the first time we met, I wasn't going to quibble about the budget. I wasn't kidding about the exemplary work she'd done and what a critical role she'd played during the Reaper War. Add this latest contribution, and I think she'd earned a little something extra.

"Much appreciated, sir."

I frowned. "Samantha?"

"Yes, Commander?"

I closed my eyes and sighed. "You didn't stay behind."

"Well I couldn't very well start my long-overdue shore leave with a massage or a cocktail, could I? Not when I knew someone was trying to steal the Normandy."

This was seriously not part of the plan. Granted, Samantha would have had to pass basic weapons training as part of her Alliance training, but I had no idea how she would do under pressure in a combat situation. Then again, putting a gun in her hands might not be the best use of her talents. "Samantha, I appreciate your dedication and initiative. Since you're here, where does this shaft lead us to, exactly?"

"The CIC. Right in front of the steps to the galaxy map."

Seriously? There was a trapdoor under my feet this whole time and I didn't know? Great.

What was more concerning was the fact that the CIC was bound to be swarming with mercs. And if they were within weapon's range, it would be ridiculously easy to concentrate their fire on a tiny, poorly defended hole in the floor and take us out. After everything we'd been through, that would be a very embarrassing way to go out. "Wrex, Liara, Miranda: I need you three up here."

That resulted in a lot of squirming, banging and muttered curses. "Little tight in here," Kaidan whispered.

"What do they size this place for, keepers?" Garrus wondered.

"I don't know," Tali said. "This is like being back on the flotilla."

"It is not that cramped," Miranda hissed. "There is adequate space for two or three people abreast—and would you kindly move aside? _Please_?"

Oh for the love of… "Quiet," I shushed. "Can't risk them hearing us."

"Watch it!" Liara hissed, paying lip surface at best to my request.

"Yeah, yeah," Wrex grumbled. "Get off my tail."

"Sorry," Liara apologized. "I'm not really fond of tight spaces."

"Didn't you tell me you spent decades at dig sites?" Samantha asked her softly.

"And then I got trapped in a Prothean bubble," Liara said tersely. "I don't recommend it."

Oh yeah. It's not every day you first meet someone while hovering spread-eagled. I could reminisce about the good old days when all I had to worry about were renegade Spectres and geth colossi but I had a ship to take back and a clone to put down. Still felt weird hearing myself say that.

"Here's the plan," I said, once my squad stopped making such a ruckus. "Wrex, when I pop the hatch, I need you to make as much of a ruckus as possible. Figure a krogan running around should provide ample distraction. Liara, Miranda: if we don't set up defences, this shaft is gonna be a murder hole. I need biotic screens to fend off any incoming fire until we get our people out and into cover. After that, I want Team Mako covering the left and Hammerhead on the right. Alpha will congregate by the galaxy map. Let's move. _Quietly._"

We managed to crawl the rest of the way without making too much noise. When we reached the hatch leading to the CIC, I motioned everyone to halt and put my ear against the grate, just so I could get some sense of what was going on.

"Sir!" I heard someone—probably one of the mercs—say. "Just before takeoff, Normandy registered a perimeter access alert. One of the security hatches."

Aw, crap. So much for the element of surprise.

"Him," I heard my clone growl. "Where?"

"Unknown. When we shut down the AI, we disabled a lot of security systems. Shepard could be anywhere on the ship."

Oh. So we might still have a bit of surprise on our side. Phew.

I heard some loud footsteps come towards me, like someone—my clone, probably—stomping down the steps from the galaxy map to the deck. "_Shepard_ is standing right in front of you. _I'm_ the real Shepard. _Me. _Do I make myself clear?"

"Uh… yes, sir. Shepard. Sir."

"It's better this way," Brooks said soothingly in a blatant attempt to handle my clone. "Wouldn't you rather take him down yourself? Put to rest any lingering doubts on who's the real Shepard?"

There was a pause. Then two sets of footsteps passed overhead. "Armoury," my clone snapped. "Find him. Slow him down."

Ah ha. My guess was that Brooks and my clone had left for Deck Five. That left… well… everyone else cluttering up the CIC. Oh well. I guess it was better than nothing. I decided to wait a little longer, though, just in case anyone else decided to leave.

"All right, get a patrol going," one of the mercs ordered. "Find Shepard. The real one."

"But I thought he said—"

"Yeah, I know what he said. Frankly, I don't give a shit. And if you snitch on me, you're on latrine duty for the next month—assuming I don't space your ass out the airlock first."

"Hey, what'd he mean by 'slow him down'?" a third merc wanted to know. "We're allowed to kill Shepard if we have to, right?"

"He said 'slow him down' because he thinks we're cannon fodder," the first merc said grimly.

"Oh. Well… shit."

I waited a few more minutes—partly to allow the patrol to leave the CIC, partly to let that demoralizing thought sink in for everyone else. Finally, I popped the hatch. Wrex eagerly jumped out before I could even signal him, his roar drowned out by the discharge of his shotgun.

"Watch out!"

"It's the krogan!"

"He's in the CIC!"

"_We're _in the CIC!"

"Open fire, open fire!"

Distraction, check. Hee, hee.

By the time I emerged, Wrex had already taken out one merc and was enthusiastically beating a second one to a pulp. Spotting a third one hiding behind his omni-shield, I opened fire with my submachine gun keeping him pinned down until I could flank him and go all stabby-stabby with my omni-blade. As he collapsed, I saw twin biotic barriers shimmer to life—courtesy of Liara and Miranda. So I guess there was nothing more to do but get out there and shoot more mercs.

I really need a life.

That depressing realization was contrasted by the… fun Wrex was clearly having. "Ha, ha, ha! I always wanted to do this!" he howled.

I know this was my plan and all, but he didn't have to be so _giddy _about it. "You always wanted to have a firefight on the CIC of my ship?" I asked incredulously.

"And it isn't even my birthday!" he exulted, shooting another merc in the face.

Grinding my teeth, I fried a merc's shields and shot _him _in the face. And tried not to think about how much it would cost to fix the screen after the merc fell against it and broke the glass. Or how much damage was caused by the EMP Garrus just dropped on two mercs and a computer. Or the damage caused by the explosion caused by Javik's biotics. Or the damage caused by the explosion on the other side of the CIC—the one triggered by Liara's biotics and EDI's plasma. Or the damage caused Miranda's EMP, Kaidan's biotics and James's concussive round. Or by all those bullets ricocheting off the floor, walls, ceilings and very sensitive equipment inside the CIC.

The Alliance will pay for it, I told myself. The Alliance will pay for it, the Alliance will pay for it, the Alliance will pay for it…

"Sorry, Shepard," Garrus called out, interrupting my little mantra. "I gotta side with Wrex on this one. The CIC of a warship is one of my favourite places to fight!"

I glared at him. "Et tu, Garrus?"

"Right there above the gardens and below the electronics shops!"

Ah yes. Garrus's short list of places that were fun to fight through. One of the few sources of levity to be found when helping Mordin deal with his former student and his ethically questionable efforts to research the genophage. There was one more item on Garrus's list, though, which I remembered after lighting up another merc. "As I recall, antique shops are on that list as well."

"But only if they're classy!" Garrus chirped.

I caught Miranda's eye. "During rehab," I told her, "they told me to visualize my goal. My 'something to strive for'. Somehow, this scenario never came up."

"I should think not," she sniffed. "Shooting up the CIC of a warship should never be _anyone's _goal."

"Wrex and Garrus think otherwise," I reminded her.

"You have very, very strange friends."

"They're your friends too," I pointed out.

"True. I should probably get out more."

There really wasn't anything else to say. Thankfully, there was only one more merc left in the CIC, though Tali's drone was doing a fine job of finishing him off by way of electrocution. However, the back of my neck was still tingling. "Teams Mako and Hammerhead, clear the CIC," I ordered. "Team Alpha, with me."

My instincts proved accurate. A lone sniper was lurking just outside the War Room. She thought her cloak would give her the element of surprise, and it might have—if it wasn't for the fact that she decloaked moments before I ran into her. I punched her in the face and shoved her back against the wall, which bought me enough time to pull out my sniper rifle and fire a single shot at point-blank range. Definitely overkill, and it resulted in another bullet embedded in the wall, but I reminded myself that the Alliance would pay for it.

Before I left, I quickly patted down the sniper. I found an assault rifle mod—a curious choice for someone toting a _sniper _rifle, but whatever—some credits and a datapad with the following e-mail:

_To: All CAT6 Long-Range Specialists (LRS Mailing List):_

_Subject: Primary Weapon Flexible Accounts_

_All right, snipers. Management heard LRS Bell's complaints about having to go with a standardized loadout instead of customizing your gear. So here's the deal: you can either take a standardized loadout or apply for a flex account that gives you an annual stipend to apply towards new weapons, upgrades and maintenance. Your call, but anyone who goes crazy with mods and blows their own foot off with high-explosive ammo is SOL—like LRS Bell. _**(6)**

_Credits in your flex account expire at the end of the year—fiscal, not calendar. Also, as LRS Bell is no longer fit for service, we'll be passing the hat for anybody who wants to chip in for a 'Congratulations, you shot your foot off' card so we can send Susan off to retirement with a smile._

Huh. That kinda sounded like what the Alliance would do. Though they would only offer such options to N7s and soldiers with the rank of Captain, Major or higher. They would certainly put their foot down on anything that could cause one of their operatives to lose their foot. Now I wondered if the sniper I killed was this Susan Bell. Had I, in the heat of the moment, ruined any hopes and dreams that she and her family or loved ones might have had?

A quick check told me the answer was no, as she still had both her feet. Guilt assuaged.

"CIC is clear," Garrus reported when I returned.

"Well, technically, the galaxy map room is clear," Miranda corrected. "The cockpit is locked."

Translation: there was at least one merc sitting in Joker's leather seat. Good thing he wasn't with us: if he knew some hostile was camping out in his territory, he'd probably grab a gun and try to launch a one-man assault. "EDI, can you give us access?" I asked. "Or lock down the Normandy?"

EDI shook her head. "My AI core is still offline. I am unable to power it—myself—back up remotely. It is strange moving through the Normandy without sensory access or control. I feel… blind."

Going from seeing everything inside and outside the Normandy to the limited perspective of her mech? Yeah, blind would just about cover it. That had to change. "Sounds like someone will have to go to the AI Core room and manually restart your systems," I concluded.

"I could do it," Samantha volunteered.

The more I thought about it, the more I liked it. "I love the initiative," I smiled, "though we still have a ways to go before the ship is clear of hostiles. I don't know how many people we can spare."

"I wouldn't want extra bodies in the core room anyway," Samantha reassured me. "Truth be told, there's not a lot of room in there."

That was true. I remembered the conversations I had with Legion, and the argument I mediated between Legion and Tali. You might be able to fit in two or three people, but after that it would get cramped. And that was before you factored in bulky hardsuits and weapons. "We'll figure it out when we get to sickbay," I decided. "Then we'll deal with my clone. Let's move out…"

I trailed off as I saw the stack of items piled up outside the elevator. I hadn't paid it any attention earlier, what with all the shooting and other shenanigans going on in the CIC. But now, I couldn't help but notice that someone—my clone, no doubt—had done some cleaning. I saw a bunch of my old medals and awards, most of my model ships… and my… space hamster?

Leaning forward, I saw a note attached to Boo's cage. "Please send this to an animal shelter for proper disposal," I read aloud, "as a warship is not an appropriate—oh, that is _not _okay!" I burst out.

Boo squeaked, feeling just as outraged as I was. Probably more so. I mean, _he _was the one getting booted from his home, after all.

I looked at my squad. "He messed with my hamster, guys. Now it's personal."

Boo squeaked in wholehearted agreement. I mean, honestly, how would _you _feel if you were unceremoniously dumped without even a heads-up or by-your-leave?

"Guys?" I prompted. "Ladies? Were you gonna say something or… no, no, I get it. Hard to even find the words."

Boo squeaked sympathetically.

My eyes suddenly widened as a horrifying thought struck me. "Should we check on my fish? 'Cuz if he's getting rid of all the pets…"

The squad stared at me with varying degrees of confusion and incredulity. Even Boo's squeak seemed to have a different tone.

"We should… probably deal with him first, huh?" I realized.

Boo spoke for the squad. Or squeaked. You get the idea.

"All right," I sighed. Bending down, I swiped the note, stuffed it in my pocket and patted the cage. "Sit tight, little guy. We'll get you back home in no time. Anybody gives you trouble… _go for the eyes_."

We filed into the elevator while Boo offered squeaks of encouragement. Music to my ears. **(7)**

* * *

Most people have taken elevator rides at one point in their life. Many of them probably had more than one passenger. But I'm sure that few have ever had the pleasure of squeezing eleven people into a single elevator car—ten of whom were wearing military hardsuits and packing various instruments of death and one of whom was an honest-to-gosh krogan. To say it was a tight squeeze would be an understatement.

James wound up breaking the silence, partly to get everyone's minds off the cramped conditions but mostly because he had something on his mind: "Those assholes are in the shuttle bay," he growled. "_My_ shuttle bay."

"I believe my sense of proprietary outrage trumps yours," EDI argued.

"Sorry, EDI," James apologized. "It's just… I _know _some asshole messed around with my weights. I finally had them set up right! But you've got a point. So, uh, you wanna talk about your feelings or anything?"

"These… _people _are showing disrespect to my home… my body. It is… unacceptable," EDI declared.

"Right. I get it."

"I intend to kill Shepard's clone, Agent Brooks and _anyone else_ in my way."

"Okay," James managed. "Nice talk. Yeah."

Wrex was all for another excuse to unleash some carnage. "That's right," he cheered. "Get pissed off. You'll fight better."

Samantha, on the other hand, was slightly alarmed. Judging by how wide her eyes were, she might have been reconsidering the wisdom of aiding a homicidal AI. She certainly was the first one to squeeze out of the elevator when we reached Deck Three.

After clearing Deck Three of any hostiles, we escorted Samantha to the AI Core. To my mild surprise, the entire deck was empty. I suppose it was possible that we'd taken out all the mercs, but it was more likely they were on one of the other decks. Samantha willingly allowed herself to be sealed inside, having decided not to hold EDI's homicidal rage against her. Unless 'Samantha' was really masquerading as someone else. If Brooks could do it once, she could do it again. I was probably being paranoid, but… "I still don't like the idea of leaving Samantha all alone," I said. "EDI, I want you to stay here. Guard Samantha. Keep her safe. Monitor her efforts and assist as needed."

"I will stay as well, Commander," Javik declared. "To… monitor."

He still didn't trust EDI. Not really. I could have scolded him. But given everything that had happened over the last few days—just look at my sudden concern over Samantha—a healthy dose of suspicion might not be a bad thing. "Just remember you're on the same team," I reminded him. He grunted.

Leaving EDI, Javik and Samantha behind, we returned to the elevator. I considered the idea of having us take more than one trip, but decided it would be better to have the entire squad go together. Besides, if anyone tried to ambush us while we were packed like sardines, Miranda or Liara could always shield us with biotics until we got out.

"This is terrible," Tali said as the doors closed.

"I know," Miranda commiserated. "To think someone came so close to taking over Shepard's life."

Tell me about it.

"What? Oh, well, that too. Horrible. Just horrible. But, um, I was talking about the Normandy. I'm going to have to re-align the drive core synchronizers, run a full security diagnostic…"

Wait. What?

"Oh I fully understand," Miranda reassured Tali. "And don't get me started on cleaning up the CIC. We've got broken screens and spent thermal clips everywhere. And clearly I'm going to have to devise some new security protocols."

"An engineer's work is never done. Come on, let's go kill this bosh'tet."

I feel so loved. I really do.

The doors opened before we could have any more scintillating conversations. We entered the shuttle bay, weapons drawn. I froze and swung my sniper rifle around as I heard the sound of footsteps against the deck.

It was my clone. Only he'd changed clothes: he was now wearing a plain grey hardsuit with a N7 logo stamped on the chestplate and a strip of red paint running down the arms. "Well," I managed after a moment's hesitation, "that's kinda creepy."

He fired. We fired back. Everyone took cover.

"You wanna stop shooting up my ship?" the clone called out.

"It's not your ship!" I rebutted.

"Oh yeah? It will be! I've taken your name, your Spectre rank, even your fingerprints!"

"Sorry to disappoint, but you haven't taken anything!" I said. "Not my name, not my rank or Spectre status, not even my fingerprints. Do you really think having my face will fool my friends? My family? Admirals Anderson and Hackett? Even the Council won't be fooled!"

Okay, maybe TPTB would be fooled. Some of the dumber REMFs in the Alliance would, too. But my clone didn't have to know that. Letting my clone stew on what I'd said, I silently motioned for Team Mako and Hammerhead to spread out before leading Liara and Wrex forward. I paused behind a stack of crates, counted down, then whipped around the corner.

My clone was gone. Okay. I could wander around or lure him out of hiding. "You tried to steal my identity, but failed. You tried to kill me, but failed. You tried to steal my ship, but failed. How's that big plan looking now? Oh, sorry: _Brooks's_ plan. You couldn't have possibly come up with anything like this. After all, you're just a clone."

The back of my neck suddenly tingled as a strangled cry of outrage burst out. I spun around, instinctively activating my omni-blade in time to parry my clone's. We briefly struggled, but I had already found my footing and effortlessly pushed him away. Before I could follow up, Brooks appeared with a shotgun. She quickly fired, forcing me to dive for cover. "Hatchet Squad," she shouted, "open fire!"

"Take him down!" my clone added. I leaned out from the crate I was hiding behind in time to see my clone start to fade away in a shimmer of light. Apparently he'd been equipped with a cloaking device too.

"Not on my watch!" Garrus retorted, raising his arm and disrupting the cloak. Miranda and Kaidan used a similar combo to weaken his shields. That bought me enough time to raise my sniper rifle and fire.

My clone flew back against another crate and fell down. I managed to see him administer some medi-gel before he slid out of view.

Meanwhile, my squad was fighting Hatchet Squad. On my left, I caught James aiming at a merc. "You still want this ship, assholes?" he taunted before taking him out with a concussive round to the face. "Come and get it!"

Meanwhile, Tali was busy electrocuting a merc with her combat drone. "I am Tali'Zorah vas Normandy," she announced, "and _this_ is how we deal with pirates where I'm from!"

"You should have died in that damn sushi place!" Brooks yelled.

"And miss the look on your face?" I taunted. "Never!"

My comm suddenly came to life. _"Shepard, do you read me?" _

"Loud and clear," I replied. "You cut through the jamming?"

"_Affirmative. CAT6 had a transmitter set up in an abandoned warehouse. It was heavily defended, but C-Sec got through and disabled their tech with minimal casualties. That's the good news. Bad news: the Normandy's prepping for a jump to FTL."_

Aw, crap.

"_Can you get to the cockpit?" _Joker asked. _"Like soon?"_

"Negative," I said. "Cockpit's sealed and the squad's occupied in the shuttle bay!"

"_Roger that, Commander," _Steve replied. _"We'll proceed with Plan B."_

"_Plan B?" _Joker said, as mystified as I was. _"What the hell is Plan B?"_

That's what I wanted to know too, but I had to turn my attention back to the fight. While Steve, Joker and I were chatting, Liara had yanked two mercs into a singularity. I promptly blew up the singularity with a fireball while Garrus and Tali fried the shields of another three mercs. As Wrex trampled over the burning duo, Miranda and Kaidan hammered that unlucky trio with their biotics. James and I amused ourselves by finishing the latter three mercs off.

My clone couldn't keep the look of dismay off his face as mercs fell around him. "I am Commander Shepard!" he shouted, as if repeating that piece of fiction would make it true. Sadly for him, the chances of that happening were about the same as raising all those mercs back from the dead.

"Are you kidding me?" I shouted back. "You're nothing but one more mercenary thug!"

"My team is just as good as yours!" he insisted.

"Your team?" I retorted. "What team? You have _minions_! And you're running out!"

I don't think he appreciated my comments. If looks could kill, his glare would succeed where all his minions and Brooks's plan had failed. But his distraction bought enough time for the squad to bombard him with fireballs, biotics and bullets. Brooks was forced to rush over and administer some medi-gel.

In response, I fired my sniper rifle and collapsed her shields. Brooks activated her cloak before I could fire another shot. "We need backup!" I heard her disembodied voice holler.

"_Ugh, again with the pancreas."_

"Joker?" I said in confusion. "What's going on out there?"

"_I'm overriding the skycar's safeties, Commander," _Steve replied_. "I'll obstruct the Normandy's path, try to get their attention."_

"_We're _bait_?" _Joker blurted out._ "Plan B stands for _bait_?"_

I shared Joker's alarm. "EDI," I yelled, "if you've got control back, shut down the weapons!"

"_Attempting to access weapon controls," _EDI replied. _"Please standby."_

Another four mercs came into view, only to run into a storm of EMPs and plasma. Realizing their protection was gone, they tried to scatter, only to get cut down by a merciless rain of bullets. "Damn it!" Brooks cried out as her 'backup' collapsed. "You ruined everything! My plan was perfect!"

"If it was perfect, it would've _worked_!" James snorted.

"I'm so sorry!" Tali added sarcastically.

"_Moving in, Commander," _Steve told me.

It was a good thing he warned us, as the deck suddenly shifted beneath our feet. The squad was able to brace themselves. Judging by the sudden flurry of curses, my clone wasn't so lucky. "What the hell's going on up there?" he yelled. "Stop fucking around, get us out of the nebula and jump to FTL!"

"_I can't," _the merc replied. _"A skycar keeps blocking our path!"_

It didn't sound like the merc pilot was having a good day. Either he was frustrated by Steve's antics, angry at the deaths of all his comrades, insulted by my clone's remarks or a combination of the above.

Not that my clone seemed to care. "Then shoot it!" he said grimly.

"_Understood."_

The comms went silent, which was more than I could say for the firefight going on in the shuttle bay. Lightning and thunder crackled as EMPs went off. Flashes of blue and red light burst out as biotics and plasma were deployed. Detonations thundered all around me. And the gunfire never stopped.

"_You need to stay within thirty degrees of the nose to block course plotting!" _ I heard Joker say over the comm.

"_That makes us a perfect target," _Steve pointed out.

"_No," _Joker disagreed,_ "that makes us the bait. Do you want me to drive?"_

"_No!"_

I didn't let the banter distract me from my target. The clone had cloaked himself, but I had a rough idea of his whereabouts. Throwing a grenade at his last known location, I activated my own cloak and waited. Sure enough, I spotted a telltale shimmer as he bolted from his hidey-hole moments before the grenade went off. I fired my sniper rifle, only to have my aim thrown off by the increased jinking of the Normandy. Steadying myself, I managed to fire again. Direct hit! I aimed centre mass as my clone rematerialized, almost fell over as the Normandy jerked again, then fired. Unfortunately, I only clipped him. Still, I must've hit something vital, judging by the spray of blood.

"I can make the Alliance great! I can remake the galaxy!" my clone ranted, clearly delusional from Brooks's brainwashing and the blood loss. "All you have are the pipe dreams of a tired old man!"

"This 'tired old man' is kicking your ass!" I retorted.

"You can do it!" Brooks urged my clone. "You're better than he is!"

"Not from what I've seen," I chirped.

"Get Dagger Squad in here!" my clone screamed.

More reinforcements? Yeah, I didn't want that. Not when things were going so well. "EDI, lock down the elevators."

"_Sir," _the CAT6 pilot reported before EDI could reply, _"I can't get rid of the skycar. Thanix cannons and torpedoes are offline. GARDIAN grid's stuck in some kind of calibration cycle."_

"Damn it!" my clone cursed. The blood flow stopped, probably due to another administration of medi-gel. "You two, launch the shuttle and blow that thing out of the sky!"

Risking a peek, we saw the shuttle bay doors lower and two mercs—presumably the ones my clone had given orders to—bolt for the nearest shuttle. Team Mako took them out. Team Hammerhead took out the next pair. Team Alpha dealt with the following duo. Eventually, though, two of them succeeded. The shuttle took off and rocketed out the door, engines howling away.

"Watch out! That door's unsecured!" Kaidan warned.

Not only was the door still open, but the Normandy was still weaving back and forth. Apparently, the shuttle hadn't stopped Steve from continuing Plan B. Which meant my clone was still no closer to getting away. The same thing must have occurred to him, and Dagger Squad hadn't arrived yet, because he started yelling at me again. "You're just cybernetics! Scarred, worn-out Cerberus tech!"

"You know where I got those scars?" I yelled back. "Feros and Noveria and Virmire and Ilos! At the Collector base! On Menae, Tuchanka, Rannoch and Thessia! I _earned_ these scars protecting the galaxy, fighting to give it a future! You got yours from a _petri dish_, while hiding from every single fight worth fighting!"

"You're a figurehead!" my clone tried again. "A mindless grunt with nothing more than a lucky streak!"

"Then how come you want to be me so badly?" I pointed out.

A fresh wave of mercs poured in from the sides before my clone could think of a comeback. Dagger Squad must've discovered that the elevators were a no-go and used the maintenance tunnels as an alternate route. "You should've stayed in the Archives!" Brooks called out, emboldened by the backup. "I tried to make it clean and painless!"

"You betrayed us, Brooks!" Kaidan snapped. "You don't get to walk away from that!"

"It was easy!" Brooks sneered. "You were so eager to help the lovable rookie!"

We could've offered a pithy reply to the would-be lovable rookie, but we were busy dealing with Dagger Squad. While the squad opened fire, I decided it was well past time I set the mood for this little combat situation. Quickly picking a song from my collection, I tapped into the PA and started playing:

"_Let's go._

"_Steve walks warily down the street,  
with the brim pulled way down low.  
Ain't no sound but the sound of his feet,  
machine guns ready to go._

"_Are you ready,  
Are you ready for this.  
Are you hanging on the edge of your seat?  
Out of the doorway the bullets rip  
the sound of the beat."_

While the music was playing, I zapped one merc. Liara blasted him with her biotics, then Wrex and I finished him off with a shotgun blast and submachine gun burst, respectively. Miranda, Kaidan and James took out another merc with an EMP, biotic whammy and concussive round—in that order. Garrus collapsed the shields of a third merc while Tali disabled his weapon and Chatika electrocuted him to death.

"_Another one bites the dust.  
Another one bites the dust.  
And another one gone, and another one gone.  
Another one bites the dust." _**(8) **

As the song continued, merc number four did indeed bite the dust. So did mercs five, six and seven. Seeing the momentum swing back in our favour, Brooks resorted to more taunts. "You're all blind! You worship Shepard while the galaxy dies around us!"

"_We _worship Shepard?" Tali cried out incredulously. "You made your own _copy_!"

"Yeah, lady," James added. "That's all kinds of messed up!"

"Shepard is the best hope for this galaxy!" Miranda cried out. "He's earned our trust by fighting to unify the galaxy. He's earned our loyalty by defeating the Reapers. And we have the real one!"

"This changes nothing," Brooks insisted. "Once you're dead, we can explain everything!"

"The rest of my crew has already put a message in to Hackett by now!" I lied. Technically, I'd given no such orders. But she didn't need to know that. Neither did the clone or the mercs. "It's over, Brooks!"

She ignored us. So did my clone and the mercs. At first I thought they were trying to deny the inevitable. Team Mako did their best to show them the error of their ways, mostly through a well-placed EMP, an equally well-placed biotic explosion and a hail of bullets. Then EDI contacted me over the comm: _"Shepard: elevator lockdown has been overridden. More hostiles inbound!"_

"You heard EDI," I shouted. Quickly scanning the room, I made my decision. "Team Hammerhead, cover Team Mako! Team Alpha, target that merc."

The teams laid down cover fire for each other while we switched positions. By the time the elevator opened, Team Alpha was in a prime location to take out the tightly-packed cluster of mercs with an EMP and fireball. Then Liara yanked them out of the elevator and into a singularity, where they spun around helplessly. We took them out while Teams Mako and Hammerhead keep whittling down the other mercs.

Brooks and the clone tried to organize some kind of counteroffensive, but we kept shutting them down. Seeing the chagrin on their faces, I thought about the massive chip on my clone's shoulder and decided to rub some salt in the proverbial wound. "All teams," I said over the squad channel, "lower their morale."

Wrex started things off. "That all you got?" he taunted. "The _real_ Shepard hits a lot harder."

"My _drone _fights harder than this!" Tali chimed in.

"Tell me about it," Garrus laughed. "You know the real Shepard would've blown my head off by now."

Even Brooks couldn't help but contribute to the rapidly dropping morale. "What's wrong with you?" she burst out in frustration. "Do you _want_ him to win?"

"Shut up and let me fight!" my clone exploded in frustration and rage.

"Damn you all to hell!" Brooks cursed.

Oh yeah. The teamwork and unity was definitely starting to break down on the other side. "Keep it up, people," I said over the comm.

"You should've stayed silly and harmless, Brooks," Tali called out. "It suits you better."

"Silly and harmless is right," Miranda agreed. "Add 'amateur' and 'failure' to the list. No wonder you keep switching names and allegiances, Brooks; you can't admit how incompetent you are!"

Brooks swung around to glare at her, just in time to take an EMP and a sniper round to the face. Shields took the worst of it, but it did force her to duck. With her out of the way, I launched a fireball at my clone, followed by a careful burst from my submachine gun. "I'm taking the Normandy back," I told him. "And honestly, I'm doing you a favour. 'Cuz you don't have what it takes!"

"_I'M SHEPARD!" _he screamed at the top of his lungs. _"DO YOU HEAR ME, ASSHOLE? I'M SHEPARD!" _

"No," I replied. "You're not."

And that was when he lost it. Throwing aside any semblance of tactics or situational awareness, he threw his weapon aside, summoned an omni-blade, and charged. You'd think this would be the perfect opportunity to cut him down in his tracks. Unfortunately, most of the squad was still occupied dealing with mercs. Team Alpha managed to fire a few shots—and a stream of plasma—his way, but he was moving fast enough—and had enough armour—to keep going. My omni-tool hadn't had time to generate any more plasma. And the unsteady footing wasn't exactly conducive to firing a sniper rifle with any degree of accuracy. So I holstered my submachine gun and waited for him to make the first move.

He lunged forward, no doubt hoping to skewer me on his omni-blade. I stepped aside. He swung outwards, hoping to catch me. I took a step back. He recovered his footing and advanced, hacking and slashing. I kept retreating, occasionally leaning out of the way of his attacks. Sword fighting wasn't really covered during my physical therapy, and I hadn't sparred since a bittersweet and satisfying duel with Kai Leng, so I was more than a little rusty. Thankfully, my clone displayed no training or finesse whatsoever. Apparently his strategy involved swinging as hard as he could until he hit me, then swing harder until I was nothing more than bloody chunks of meat. Needless to say, he was unsuccessful.

Finally, I summoned an omni-blade of my own and parried his attack. As his arm slid aside, I maintained pressure, sliding my omni-blade down his own until it struck the omni-tool. Fun fact: omni-tools are pretty hardy and rugged, but they aren't designed to withstand direct strikes from flash-forged silicon-carbide blades. Especially when they carry lethal charges of electricity.

My clone's omni-tool abruptly shorted out. The omni-blade flickered and died. This would have been the moment where I could end everything with one clean strike.

Instead, I shut down my omni-blade and tackled him.

We rolled down the cargo ramp, dimly aware that we were rolling towards the edge of the Normandy. Finally, we came to a stop. Finding myself on top, I immediately took the opportunity to beat the crap out of him. "That's for trying to steal my identity," I said as I punched him in the face.

Then I punched him again. "That's for trying to kill me."

And again. "That's for trying to kill my friends."

And again. "That's for trying to steal my ship."

Once more for good measure. "And that's for taking my sushi!" **(9) **

In hindsight, an omni-blade would have been the smarter—and more lethal—move. But punching this identity thief, this clone, this… this fucked up _copy_ was so damn satisfying and cathartic. Part of me did realize that the next session with my shrink would be _very _interesting.

But I digress.

With a fierce cry, my clone managed to wedge a foot between us and push me away. We got to our feet and prepared for round two.

Then the Normandy suddenly jerked violently. Both of us lost our footing, stumbled and fell. Frantically, I flailed about, trying to come to a halt. But I couldn't stop rolling. The kinetic barrier flared as I slipped off the ramp, legs kicking madly. Finally, I managed to cling to a groove in the cargo ramp.

My clone wasn't faring any better. In fact, both of us were barely hanging on. If it wasn't for the friction between our upper body and the ramp, and the precarious grip we had, both of us would be facing a terminal descent to the ground below. We both tried to pull ourselves up, but neither of us had the strength to do so.

"Look at you," my clone snarled. "What makes you so damn special? Why you and not me?"

"Shepard!" Miranda cried. "Hang on!" Without thinking twice, she sprinted towards me, slowing down only when she reached the ramp. She quickly got on all fours, frantically scrambled towards me and lunged for my arm. Behind her, Garrus had run over with a similar disregard for his safety and clamped on to her calf. "We've got you!" he called out. With a combined effort, they managed to pull me back from the brink.

"Thanks," I panted as they helped me up to my feet.

"What is it about you and falling from great heights?" Miranda asked shakily as she gave me a fierce hug.

"Well, you know, just trying to be consistent," I said. Looking over her shoulder, I saw the squad had repositioned themselves to a rough circle around the ramp, covering Miranda, Garrus and I from any would-be ambusher. However, none of that happened. The gunfire had finally come to an end. Any hostiles in the shuttle bay were either dead or had surrendered.

"What about this pyjak?" Wrex asked me.

Oh yeah. What _about _that pyjak—that is, my clone? Turning around, I realized that no one had bothered to risk their life by coming to my clone's aid. Not the mercs. Not Brooks. No one. For all his boasting about being the lone wolf, his vitriol against nonhumans in general and my friends in particular, his unsubstantiated claims about my cult of personality… he was alone. A look of betrayal and loneliness swept across my clone's face as that realization slowly sunk in.

Gently prying myself from Miranda's arms, I slowly made my way down towards my clone. Bracing myself, I extended a hand. Behind me, I felt Miranda grab my arm. Without looking back, I knew my squad was going to make damn sure my clone didn't seize the opportunity to pull me over the edge and to my doom.

My clone stared at me blankly. "Here, take my hand," I urged.

He looked at me in confusion, as if he didn't comprehend what he was seeing. Maybe he didn't—or couldn't–understand concepts like compassion and magnanimity. "Take my hand," I repeated.

"And then?" he asked.

How the heck would I know? Maybe he'd be interrogated. Maybe he'd wind up in prison for all the crimes he was responsible for. Maybe he'd wind up in a lab somewhere. Maybe he'd be stuck in the labyrinthine grip of bureaucracy while someone tried to figure out how to classify a clone. "And then you live," I finally replied.

His face twisted into a mask of anger, bitterness and loathing. "For what?" he spat. Then, before I could do anything, he let go of the ramp and pushed himself away.

To say I was taken aback would be an understatement. I watched in stunned disbelief as he plummeted through the air. I watched his flailing body grow smaller and smaller, while trying to wrap my head around the mindset of someone who would choose suicide over accepting an enemy's offer to live. I watched until he finally disappeared out of view.

Then I stood up, turned away and rejoined my friends. My family.

* * *

I had Teams Mako and Hammerhead do a quick sweep of the Normandy in order to flush out any mercs who might be lingering around. They were concluding their search when Samantha entered the shuttle bay. "All diagnostics check out," she reported. "EDI is back online."

"_I am once again in control of the Normandy,"_ EDI confirmed. _"Thank you for your assistance, Specialist Traynor."_

"My pleasure, EDI," Samantha smiled warmly. "And welcome back."

"Once again, you went above and beyond," I added. "I hope that lays to rest any doubts you might have about being dishonourably discharged."

"They do, Commander, and thank you. Oh, I almost forgot: Lieutenant Cortez is requesting permission to dock his… skycar?"

"He had to hitch a ride," I explained. "Permission granted."

Miranda came over as Steve's skycar flew into the shuttle bay and touched down. "Gimme a sitrep, Miranda," I said. "What're we looking at?"

"My preliminary assessment is that Brooks, your clone and the mercenaries were not here long enough to do any serious damage to Decks One, Three or Four. Once the Normandy returns to the docking bay, we can do a proper, more thorough assessment."

"Might have to clean up a few holes from where we shot the shit outta the shuttle bay, though," James added.

"And the CIC," Wrex said happily.

By that point, Joker and Steve had gotten out of the skycar and had caught most of our conversation. "You might wanna check the heat diffusion system as well," Joker chimed in. "Pretty sure the mercs overloaded it firing at us. You guys probably didn't notice, but 'Shuttle Guy' here did some crazy stunt-flying to keep us in one piece."

"It's nice to fly something a little more manoeuvrable than the Kodiak," Steve shrugged modestly.

"Glad to hear it," I nodded. "What about the mercs? Any survivors?"

Miranda fielded those questions. "The two mercenaries who stole one of our shuttles in an attempt to shoot down Lieutenants Moreau and Cortez—"

"Last I checked, C-Sec is in pursuit," Steve said.

"One pilot who was flying the Normandy—"

"I have activated four security drones to keep him immobilized until C-Sec can take him into custody," EDI informed us.

"—and Brooks."

"The Alliance is waiting to take her into custody," Joker said. "They're taking her to a high-security facility. Maybe she can give them some dirt on Cerberus."

"I'll be more than happy to cooperate with the authorities."

We turned around at the sound of Brooks's mocking voice. Garrus and Wrex had taken it upon themselves to strip her of any weapons or tech. Her hands were bound behind her back, thanks to some electronic cuffs Garrus dug up.

Joker shot her a dirty look, clearly blaming her for masterminding the entire plot to steal 'his' ship. "If you excuse me, Commander, I gotta get that crappy-ass pilot out of my cockpit."

"Cooperate?" I asked as Joker departed. "Or play along until you escape?"

"Me?" she asked innocently. "Escape? But I'm not a field agent."

"Stop," I groaned. "Just… stop. You betrayed me and the Alliance. And Cerberus before that. Why?"

"I was young and naïve," she pouted.

"Is this all just a big joke to you?" I wanted to know.

"So serious," she smiled. "Admit it. You'll miss me."

There was a sudden flash of light behind her. Then her hands slipped free of the cuffs and she made a break for the skycar. "Brooks, stop!" I shouted.

She ignored me.

Pulling out my submachine gun, I lined up a shot and fired. Brooks stiffened momentarily before collapsing like a puppet whose strings had been cut.

"Not at this range, I won't," I said darkly.

Joker shook his head. "Well, what's another body at this point, am I right?"

The rest of the trip was blissfully uneventful. Joker brought the Normandy into dock without any fuss before joining the rest of us in the shuttle bay. When we lowered the ramp, there were a ton of C-Sec officers—some to take the surviving merc pilot into custody, a few lead investigators to question us—I think their eyebrows were permanently raised by the time we were finished—and a veritable army of forensic specialists to examine the combat zones, retrieve whatever evidence they could and take away the many, many bodies. There were also a trio of Alliance officers. They were a little surprised—and disappointed—to hear they had made the trip for nothing. I promised them a full explanation in my report.

And then it was just us. Miranda walked over after having a few last words with the lead C-Sec investigator. "C-Sec estimates they'll be finished by the end of the day," she reported. "There's no real reason for us to stick around or supervise."

"Alliance Engineering is ready to begin repairs and retrofits once C-Sec is clear, Commander," Samantha said. "We'll have the Normandy back in shape in no time."

"Appreciate it," I told them. "Then I guess it's time to go."

As we disembarked, EDI looked at me. "Shepard, I have a question: is shore leave always like this?"

"Worse. Shore leave. Ever," Tali pronounced.

"That's one way of putting it," Miranda replied. "As shore leave goes, this certainly hasn't been the most relaxing."

"And that's a bad thing?" Wrex argued. "See, Shepard here always did know how to make shore leave entertaining."

I let out a bark of laughter. "Not by choice, Wrex." As we stepped off the ramp, I turned around to face everyone. "Come on, people. Maybe we can take some _actual_ time off. No explosions or anything. Just us."

"That sounds fantastic," Kaidan smiled.

"I'll believe it when I see it," Garrus said wryly, "but it's worth a shot."

The squad escorted me back to Tiberius Towers. Apparently, they didn't trust me to get back safe and sound without being ambushed. All things considered, they might've had a point. Once we got to the lobby, most of them decided I didn't need a babysitter anymore and left to see what the Citadel had to offer.

A few of them weren't quite ready to go sightseeing, though. Liara, Joker and Wrex accompanied me up to Anderson's apartment.

"So after a hard day spent fighting an evil clone," Joker asked, "you know what comes next?"

"A nap?" I suggested.

Joker made a face. "Please. We party down."

Oh boy. I guess I should've seen this coming. We _were _on shore leave, after all. For real, this time.

Wrex wasn't about to wait around for me to come to a decision. "Well, I gotta get going. Gotta butt heads with the Council and make 'em see reason before I head back to Tuchanka. He sighed and shook his head ruefully. "Always fires to put out when you're in charge, right?"

"Tell me about it," I groaned.

Wrex laughed sympathetically before making his way to the door. "Anyway, let me know if you wanna hang out or if you're having that party."

"Later, Wrex," I waved.

"See ya!" Joker hollered over his shoulder before looking at me expectantly.

"So," I said. "Party, huh?"

"Well, no pressure," Joker replied. "No one's gonna make you throw a party."

Uh huh. No one except a certain flight lieutenant. Mind you, I _was _his superior officer. Ultimately, what I said goes, not the other way around.

On the other hand, the idea did sound kinda appealing. "All right. After everything we've been through, maybe a party's not the worst idea we've ever had."

Glyph immediately drifted over. "I've channeled discretionary funds into your account for the purchase of any celebratory supplies, Commander."

"Um, great," I blinked. That was fast.

Meanwhile, Joker was already tapping away on his omni-tool. "Okay. EDI, Cortez and Traynor are in."

"What?" I said. "Already?"

"Yeah," Joker nodded.

"I have also informed Dr. T'Soni about any potential upcoming celebrations," Glyph added. "Over his shoulder, I noticed Liara confirm with a nod.

"Wait, wait," I pleaded, holding up my hands. Things were starting to get out of hand. Again. "Unless you guys are hosting this party—and footing the bill—"

"Members of your crew have expressed interest in spending time with you, Commander," Glyph told me. "You can check your private terminal for messages. If you require activities, Silversun Strip boasts a wide variety of restaurants, the Silver Coast Casino and the Castle Arcade."

"—I'm in charge of the guest list."

"Yeah, so there's no un-invite button on this thing…" Joker trailed off.

"You've also been granted a complimentary pass to the combat simulator at Armax Arsenal Arena," Glyph continued.

Joker looked at his omni-tool. "Uh, Cortez just invited James, so… well…"

Oh for crying out loud.

_Editorial Note: This portion of Shepard's logs henceforth comes to a natural, if comedic, end. Thank you for reading._

* * *

_(1): The phrase he chose was 'I solemnly swear that I am up to no good,' from 'Harry Potter,' a human fantasy novel series—and, eventually, film series—by J. K. Rowling. _

_(2): Technically, Shepard stole the Normandy SR-1, when it was under Council lockdown at the Citadel, in order to continue pursuing Saren Arterius. However, further investigation of that event does not seem warranted at this time._

_(3): A reference to a conversation Shepard overheard when I was an information broker on Illium. Apparently, my threats made quite the impression on him. _

_(4): It is not entirely clear to whom Shepard is referring to, but I feel confident in guessing he was talking about Wrex._

_(5): In truth, the pre-flight checks were necessary for system verification, standard operating procedure and general safety requirements. That being said, they could be done in ten or fifteen minutes. Engineers usually used the remaining time to finish any last-minute maintenance or system checks._

_(6): A crude human acronym for Shit Out of Luck. It refers to the state of having run out of all other options, leaving one in a less than optimal situation._

_(7): Shepard had maintained remarkable composure over the prospect of having his identity stolen, even despite the discovery that the perpetrator was an actual clone. I suppose the thought of losing his pet was the last straw, as evidenced by his unusually emotional response. _

_(8): 'Another One Bites the Dust,' by the human band 'Queen,' released in 1980._

_(9): I suspect this was also a manifestation of Shepard's coping mechanism, as he had never displayed any particular interest or fixation on sushi up until this point. _


End file.
